


Carry On, Inquisitor

by banjjakbanjjak



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dragon Age Inquisition Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, D&D Spells because I don't read enough literature, Definitely had to bend both canons to get things to fit, Derivative AF but I really tried, Dragon Age AU, Dragon Age Inquisition, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, High Fantasy, M/M, POV Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Slightly more than canon typical violence?, Slow Burn, This is a UK lockdown project, You don't need to play the game to understand this...I hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 61,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25021171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banjjakbanjjak/pseuds/banjjakbanjjak
Summary: The world of Thedas is plunged into chaos when an explosion levels the Temple of Sacred Ashes and tears a hole in the sky, breaching the Veil and exposing the Fade to the world.As the sole survivor of the explosion, Simon Snow Salisbury is embraced as the Herald, the Chosen One, marked by Merlin and Morgana. But can he really lead the Inquisition, and Thedas, to salvation?Baz doubts Simon Snow could do anything besides wave his Mark around and close the Rifts, but he'd be damned if a Pitch stepped away now. Let no one say that Tevinter stood by whilst the world fell apart.[Dragon Age: Inquisition x Carry On]
Relationships: Dev/Niall (Simon Snow), Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 38
Kudos: 27





	1. The Wrath of Heaven

**SIMON**

Everything hurts. Simon’s head was pounding, his legs were numb and there was a persistent ache thrumming from his hand. Ignoring the slight ringing in his skull, he opened his eyes, taking stock of his surroundings. It was a dark room, or more appropriately, a dark cell lit up by a single torch on the wall. Even without the torch, Simon could feel the ropes chaffing against his wrists. He wills himself to remember what he could have possibly done for him to end up in a cell with his hands bound, feeling like he just trampled on by a stone giant. All he remembers is a golden figure, a woman, reaching out to him before his mind draws a blank.

_Where in bloody Thedas am I?_

Panic starts to settle in his stomach – usually when he’s thrown into a cell he can remember whose nose he broke, which was annoying but never nerve racking. As his breathing quickens and his wrists struggle against his bonds, that ache in his right hand comes to the fore. Simon watched in shock as crackling energy spews from his hand, an eerie golden glow, becoming brighter and stronger with his increasingly desperate attempts to free himself from the ropes.

He barely registers the solid wooden doors to his cell swing open bringing in the harsh winter wind, which he almost welcomed given how damp his forehead was feeling. The only thing that mattered to him was to either break free or at the very least stop his hand from doing…well, whatever it was doing.

“You’re up,” Simon slowly lifts his head to the doorframe and sees two figures, “and we have questions.” The speaker was the shorter one of the two people, a woman with big curly hair, pulled back into a bun, but a few rogue curls are blowing wildly. Her eyes dart to Simon’s glowing hand and slowly makes her way toward him, her expression hardening the closer she gets.

“Who are you? And how did you survive?” she asks with her hand raised, pointing a glimmering amethyst ring directly at Simon’s face.

“Survive _what_?” Simon questions, “Where even am I?”

Her brows knit together, obviously displeased with Simon’s answer. She turns back to her companion, a stunning woman with pale blonde hair wearing a much more serene expression, if Simon wasn’t very probably yapping his way to his own execution right now, he’d be mesmerised. She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow at her questioning friend, as if to urge her to continue. Before he knew it, he found himself looking back into the purple gleam of a ring and a set of dark eyebrows and determined brown eyes.

“The Conclave is destroyed, and the Temple of Sacred Ashes is nothing more than rubble now, yet you are the only survive. So I ask again, _how_?” she demands, the amethyst gleam flickering angrily now. He thought it was unfortunate given that his hand has decided that now was the time to be calm despite being under duress. _I could do with some magical glowing shit right about now._

“Look, I don’t know, I – ” he struggles to find the words, “I just saw a, a golden lady and she – ” a rumbling groan and a flash of green across the sky interrupts Simon’s rambling, followed by the burst of golden light that pours out from his palm. It clearly disturbs his captors as well, the intimidating look falls from his interrogator’s face.

“Penny, we need him. We don’t have time for this,” the blonde one says, the urgency in her voice dulled by her stoic demeanour. His interrogator, Penny apparently, turns to her, taking periodic glances back at Simon who at this point was no less confused than when we woke up minutes ago.

“But Agatha, he – ” Penny starts before drifting off into her thoughts. The silence draws out before Penny puts an arm around her companion, “Go ahead Agatha, let them know we’re coming. I’ll escort him to the Rift.” And with that Agatha gives a curt nod and hurries out the cell, and Penny makes quick work of the ropes around Simon’s wrists, “I don’t trust you, and you best not give me reason to torch you.” Simon gingerly gets up, rubbing his raw wrists before making his way toward the door out of the cell; well aware of the ring that was undoubtedly pointed at the back of his skull.

* * *

The scene before him looked like one of those war tales he hears in taverns back home in the Free Marches. There were soldiers everywhere – active and wounded – rushing to and from the ramparts where his jail cell apparently was. More distressing was the very evident hole in the sky, as if someone had torn through the heavens, revealing a dusty, murky and haunting green hue that was never supposed to be within humanity’s reach.

“They’re calling it the Breach, the biggest Rift we know of right now,” Penny explains as Simon moves forward, following the flow of the other foot soldiers and medics. He did wonder briefly if he was going the right way, but Penny didn't seem like the type to let him deviate from exactly what she had planned. “It ripped open the skies at the moment of the explosion.”

“What explosion?” Simon asks as they move off the rampart, at which point Penny grabs his arm and gestures to the landscape further in front of him. Where he expected to see towering spires and sunburst iconography across the skyline, he saw nothing but its remnants. “ _That’s_ the Temple? Of Sacred Ashes?” he blusters, “How long was I out for?!”

Penny shakes her head, “Not nearly long enough for any of that to be natural. Now hurry up, I didn’t let you go just to satisfy your curiosity,” she gestures towards the stairs and the well-trodden mountain pass from the fort they were in to the hallowed grounds where the Temple once stood, “I’ll explain on the way.”

Simon welcomed the explanation, in part because he truly can’t recall anything, but it also meant Penny wasn’t asking him any more questions that he had no answers for. Penny informs him of the Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, a meeting between the Old Families of Tevinter and the Free People of Ferelden, to hopefully negotiate peace between the two states. Evidently they were going in circles, a continuous exercie of accusations and refusal to stop warring over anything and everything. That all changed this morning when during a meeting, seemingly out of no where, an explosion erupted from the Hall of Worship, levelling the Temple and tearing a hole in the sky.

Simon stops in his tracks, the words falling out his mouth before his mind could process it, “I was there. I was guarding the Hall.” He realised quickly after that this was far more incriminating that he intended to be, “I mean, well, that’s all I can remember. I was outside the Hall, but, I…I don’t know anything else.”

Penny squints at him before letting out a quiet sigh, “You are the only survivor that we know of. We saw you stumble out from the smoke and you collapsed.” Before Simon could say anything else in his defense, the ground tremors beneath them, and they both turn towards the tear in the sky as it spits out more clouds of green smoke and debris, like malevolent and violent meteorites. Despite this, somehow, Penny continues on, trekking towards the Temple ruin. Simon follows, stewing on the sheer scale of this disaster – family heads, clan leaders, heads of guilds, and local figures of prominence, all gone in an instant. And yet here he was, walking back to the place of their doom with a stupid glowing hand and a terrifying escort who has no right to be as intimidating as she is given the height advantage Simon has on her.

Lost in his thoughts, he bumps into Penny who suddenly stops, placing a finger to her lips. That’s when Simon hears it – sword clashes and battle cries. _What could possibly warrant fighting right now, you’re all headless chickens at this rate_. She reminds him to be quiet before slowly rounding the corner of the clearing, crouching behind some boulders, and it becomes obvious to Simon just what they were fighting. It wasn’t each other, but demons – ones you hear from ancient tales during school, creatures that manifest from the darkness in humanity’s soul and empowered by the Fade.

“Stay behind me,” Penny instructs before sprinting ahead, her ring shining a brilliant purple haze, and a flurry of elemental magicks fly from her ring towards the wraiths and beholders. Now, very few people would say Simon was a smart man, but many would agree that he isn’t one to stand by and watch someone defend him. Also, he didn’t want to pin his survival of this horrorscape on Penny’s temporary kindness and benevolence. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the glimmer of a sword that’s been left discarded by a dead soldier, and so Simon begins weighing up his options. He looks to Penny, who was by all counts fighting valiantly but given how fast the other soldiers were falling, Simon didn’t need to do the maths in his head to see how this could turn badly. He dashes out from his hiding space and dives for the sword – light, standard military issue, not unlike the ones he trained with.

“What did I say about ‘stay’ did you not understand,” Penny shouts seeing Simon emerge from his hiding spot, blasting a wraith with a ray of frost. Simon duly ignores her and focuses on one of the few things he’s good at – swordplay. He hounds after the beholder creeping up behind Penny, careful to avoid head on confrontation and looking its singular eye (he’s not superstitious about turning into stone or going mad, but he has no interest in finding out). He makes broad strikes, maintaining his position behind the winged demon, cutting into its leathery wings with as much as aggression as he could, emboldened by the adrenaline pumping through his veins. With one decisive lunge, Simon impales the beholder through its head, the tip of his sword piercing through its massive eye and reappearing on the other end. It disintegrates in ethereal green shards before the valley winds carry it into the distance.

Simon couldn’t help the lopsided grin forming on his face, _Maybe now Penny can trust me_ , before finding himself faced with a Penny’s face, wearing what could only be described as extreme annoyance. _Or not._

“Drop your weapon,” Penny commands, fold her arms, “Now.”

Simon looks at her, jaw slack in incredulity, so he just shrugs – exasperated and irritated, “Look, Penny,” he starts, and upon seeing her glare, he corrects himself, “Penelope,” bracing himself for her wrath, but when none came, he continues, “Look, _Your Grace_ or whatever you are, Penelope, if you’re going to lead me through a demon invested valley, towards a literal hole in the sky, you’ll have to trust me.”

“Give me one good reason to trust you,” cocked eyebrow and defiant.

“Because my life is on the line as well,” Simon grits out. Surely even she can see that she alone cannot clear a path all the way up to the Temple, especially if she wants to keep both of them alive (or as alive as necessary, because according to Agatha, they need _him_ apparently).

“You are better use to us alive, I guess,” Penny says, her shoulders dropping. Simon notices a shift in her demeanour, as if she’s lowering her guard, “I never learnt your name.”

“Simon Snow,” he replies, shocked that Penny had agreed without any resistance, “Salisbury”, muttering the last bit, a twang of uncertainty in his voice.

“Salisb – ” Penny starts before another grumble in the sky rings out, and the same golden streaks of magick spark from Simon’s hand, “We need to hurry,” Ignoring the unease brought on by the flashes of green lightning emanating from the tear Simon dashes off behind Penny as they run towards the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

* * *

“You made it,” Agatha says jogging towards them as they cross over the final slope towards the Temple’s entrance. Her eyes flit between Penny and Simon, and the sword he has tied hastily along his belt, “Come now, it’s worse inside than it looks out here”.

Simon’s not sure if that was meant to reassure anyone, or if Agatha was being sarcastic. If he thought what he saw earlier was a horrorscape, then the Temple grounds would be a waking nightmare. Bodies frozen in time, their faces of anguish, fear and pain permanently seared onto their corpses as the heat from the explosion turned their bodies to dust and stone. Rather than smelling like a battlefield of blood and sweat, it tasted of smoke and thick magick, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

Gesturing them to follow her, Agatha leads them toward a rudimentary station they had set up, where several others were standing by, a cloud of anxious nerves. As they approach, one man in particular looks up towards Simon, a beautiful man with warm brown skin, contrasting against his sharp face, intense widow’s peak and a pair of intense steel-coloured eyes. His may have been stunned by how plain Simon is, but when his lips tighten into a thin line, Simon wonders what he could have possibly done to warrant a look of so much disdain. _Seriously, who shat in his breakfast?_

“Is this our Chosen One?” he asks.

* * *

Moving towards the inner sanctums of the Temple was surprisingly easy, Simon almost expected waves and waves of demons to spring out from the rubble and end their little mission there and then. Not that he knows what the mission actually is, but even he can work out that this mark on his hand resonates with the Breach, as Penny and Agatha have called it.

Making up their party was, Penny and Agatha, the former much less hostile than she had been previously and the latter holding onto her wand tightly and looking equal parts reluctant and determined to get this nonsense dealt with. What surprised him was the bitter looking man and another following behind them carrying on his back a large broadsword. This new addition to their little party, with a less intense widow’s peak but equally angular face, the two could pass off as brothers, if not cousins at least. They’re wearing equally elaborate robes - beautiful drapery, and part of Simon muses they’d not fair well if the demons he fought earlier are any indication of what they are about to face. At least the women are properly dressed, if not stylish then at least pragmatic – then again, Agatha could probably wear a burlap sack and still outshine all of them in poise.

The closer they got to the inner courtyard, the clearer cries of pain hanging in the air became.

“ _The Veil must come down_ ,” a deep, determined voice cuts through the rest.

“ _Help, someone, anyone!_ ” another voice says, struggling but desperate.

“ _Your Grace,”_ a third one says. Penny whips her head around in shock, “That’s…that’s your voice, she called out to you.”

Simon balks from hearing his voice, scrambling his brain to find an explanation, the surprise of the revelation mirrored on Penny and Agatha’s faces.

“She called out for you,” Simon turns around to see him, a furious storm brewing behind his eyes, “She called to you and you let her die.” He bites out each word, punctuated with only his anger.

“Basilton –” Penny starts as the other man says “Baz – ”

“You let my mother die and along with her Tevinter’s Divine,” Baz snaps.

Simon didn’t know how to react – what he’s learning from these voices is news to him as well. He tells them as much, which does little to stop Baz’s seething, but it does get everyone moving again, or at least Baz storming off ahead and the rest follow hastily. A firm hand brushes on his shoulder, “It’s been a long day for him,” Baz’s companion says, “For all of us, he’s not usually this…aggressive.” Simon returns with a shrug and a weak smile, counting his luck that only one of the people he’s currently with wishes him six feet under.

“Simon,” he extends his right hand, before quickly switching to his left – he’s not sure what the mark can do, especially if it flares up and he’s touching someone else.

He meets Simon’s hand and gives it a firm shake “Dev”.

They didn’t have far to go before they hear the familiar clashing of metal on flesh and hissing of the demons grows louder – what they expected Simon to do, was beyond him.

There were archers, swordsmen and mages everywhere, throwing whatever they have in their arsenal, be it might, spells or in some cases sheer force of one’s body weight at the demons. This was nothing like the earlier fight Penny and he had, and to top it all off, there was a behemoth in the mix – a towering beast with horns and vicious claws and teeth. Behind it was a green glow, a smaller tear, a Rift, stretching into the heavens, a pillar almost, directly into the Breach.

A quick nod from Penny and they vault over the balustrades, diving right into the midst of battle.

Simon doesn't hesitate to draw his sword, letting out a battle cry. He charges ahead, slashing upwards at the Revenant chasing after foot soldier who’s cowering from fear. Pulling her up, Simon continues to push towards the Behemoth. Around him, he can hear the voices of Penny and Agatha casting a variety of spells, from protection to offensive magicks. Agatha’s casting is laboured and he suspects that she’s not exactly used to dealing with threats of this scale, or any physical threat at all.

As he pulls his sword out of another sylvan, Simon notices Baz. The animosity and the fact that he might be the singularly most unpleasant person he’s met today aside, he has to admit that Baz is one graceful fighter, light on his feet and not a hair out of place, sending fire bolt after fire bolt with the utmost accuracy. Unlike Dev who seems to be alternating between swinging is broadsword and casting and generally brasher of the two, Baz is made up of entirely offensive magick.

Baz is also the only one that was making any headway with subduing the behemoth. Its flesh was charred and the furs on its tail singed from Baz’s relentless attacks. Simon weaves through the fighting bodies, rationalising that the Behemoth was the only demon in between the Rift and him. _I suppose it’d help if we didn't lose such a good fighter either_. Baz looks at him in confusion, while using his staff to block a swipe from the behemoth that should have left him looking more winded than he actually was. Dismissing Simon’s metaphorical olive branch, he switches his focus back onto the beast, to which Simon concentrates his mind on as well.

A pattern emerges, wherever Simon slices on the behemoth, Baz would double down on the injury with a fire spell, as if to cause maximum pain, if not damage. Similarly, where Simon can see Baz’s spells land that leaves the behemoth’s flesh necrotic, he makes it a point to drive his sword in deep into the gash. With one well-timed swipe of the sword and a precision strike fire bolt at the behemoth’s jugular, the beast topples over.

“Chosen One,” he shouts to Simon, trying to even out his breathing. _Maybe it’s not as easy as it looks for him_ , Simon surmises – he doesn’t know why knowing this makes him happy.

“It’s Simon. Simon Snow,” he grits out beheading yet another demon – at this point he can’t tell his wraiths from his abominations, but at least the big one is down he supposes.

“Snow,” Baz moving closer to him, “Close the Breach, I’ll keep them busy.” Simon could swear that for a moment, Baz’s voice wasn’t laced with venom, but implicit trust that he can do it.

With Baz next to him, keeping any demons at bay, Simon drops his sword and reaches out to the spluttering Rift, closing his eyes and flexing his fingers, he draws on the heat from his palm and waits. Then a bright beam erupts from his hand, a beautiful cascade of golden rays and magick, shoots towards the Rift. He opens his eyes and sees the Rift shrink, its eerie green glow slowly consumed by his own golden light. Feeling overwhelmed by the sheer power and force flowing from his arm, he props up his glowing hand with his left, beads of sweat falling from his temples. The other demons shriek and thrash at the Rift closing, slowly being drawn back into the Fade.

_Fuck, it’s working_.

Letting out a growl, Simon gives a final push, pouring whatever he has in him, ignoring the cracks he feels splitting across his palm. Suddenly Simon was staggering backwards, knocking into Baz, and he watches as the Rift in front of him snap close, a yellow glow up travelling the rest of the tear up into the skies. A deafening crack fills their ears as the very magick that Simon had cast into the Rift reaches the Breach, sending out a shower of resplendent golden light as the sky slowly mends itself.

He’s breathing is laboured, his mouth dry and apparently being propped up by Baz. Penny and Agatha look drained, but nonetheless in awe of what Simon just did – Penny’s even smiling.

“Simon,” Baz whispers.

And then his world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone (or the single soul that stopped by). Lockdown and furlough have given me the opportunity to do many things, including:
> 
> 1\. Read Carry On  
> 2\. Read Wayward Son  
> 3\. Replay Dragon Age Inquisition  
> 4\. Exhaust AO3's archive of fantastic fics.
> 
> And alas, this was born after stewing on the plot, an outline and playing Twister with the canon of both stories to get them to fit. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it! Find me on Tumblr: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com
> 
> Characters and the overarching story belong to Rainbow Rowell and Bioware respectively (thank you guys, seriously.)


	2. A Declaration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hereby invoke the Edict of Micah. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, find those responsible and restore order,” marching towards the Coven men, she squares herself, “With or without the Coven’s approval.”

**AGATHA**

“Ugh.”

She was on her way out when she hears the bed shift. Relief washes over her when she sees Simon sit up. It’s been a solid two days since he closed the Rift, and though she never voiced her concerns, she wasn’t sure if he’d make it. From the moment the Rift closed, Simon was out cold, and Baz of all people, carried him all the way from the Temple to their makeshift base camp at Mummers House, a village hall that once served the clergymen of the Temple.

“Without a Temple to serve, we might as well make use of it,” Penny reasoned.

Agatha offers a small smile to Simon who was rubbing the sleep from his eyes, as if it was any other lazy day. _For him, I suppose it is a lazy day_. Whatever Simon had done required a level of magick that no one in Thedas has seen before, and even if they had the theory down, no single mage possessed the raw power to do so.

Standing by the edge of bed, Agatha keeps her eyes on Simon, waiting for his fogged mind to clear. It seemed only polite for the potential saviour of the world to have a minute to gather himself before embarking on what would be a long, long fight. Agatha almost feels sorry for him, it was one thing to run away from expectations, but for Simon, it didn’t seem like this was something anyone can run away from.

“Um, hi,” Simon’s voice strains slightly as he moves into stretching his back, “Did you, um, did you need something?” his eyes darting around the room, the questions forming on his face.

“We’re at Mummers, Simon, and you’ve been out for two days,” she explains, “And you’re needed, at Mummers House.” Simon gives a small nod, opening and closing his mouth as if he was deciding whether or not to say something. Agatha waited for anything to come from Simon, and as if on cue, his stomach lets out a grumble and he looks up to her sheepishly. She can’t help but let out a chuckle, “Come on, we have food. Penny doesn’t believe working on an empty stomach.” Without another word, Simon springs from his bed, his exhaustion all but forgotten and he follows Agatha out the small wooden cabin.

As they move through the small clusters of homesteads and villagers, she can hear hushed whispers and hurried bows, all hanging onto a singular world – “Herald”. The previous lightness she had felt with Simon slowly slips away and she is reminded of their current predicament. She doesn’t turn around to stop his spluttering and awkward handling of the bowed heads. _If they’re going to hike him up on a pedestal, then they should at least see the man they’re doing to, not deify him as something larger than life_.

The two walk past the guards posted outside Mummers House, before reaching a set of large wooden double doors. Agatha hesitates to reach for the handles, looking back at Simon. His head’s hanging low and shoulder’s sagged, his blue eyes barely visible through the curls that frame his face. He’s searching Agatha’s face for an answer, the next set of instructions. She knew the feeling of waiting for people, to tell her where to go next, a pawn in the game that was her life.

“Hey Simon,” she says softly, drawing in a deep breathe. He lifts his head slightly, gaze not fully meeting hers.

“Yes?”

“Beyond these doors,” pausing to find the right words, “Beyond these doors, there are people, all who have expectations of what we should do, what _you_ should do. They’ll have ideas as to who you are. Merlin, even I have my opinions on you.” She reaches out to hold his hand, turning it over to the Mark. She studies it briefly, the fine lines of his palm marred by a deep gash, an undercurrent of magick and the Fade pulses softly under it.

“Whatever they ask of you, whatever they tell you. This Mark is yours and solely yours. What you do with it is up to you. It’s not bigger than you – it _is_ you. Don’t let them tell you otherwise,” Agatha whispers, hoping Simon can see where she’s coming from.

“But they have food right?” Simon says, perking up with a lopsided grin of his. Agatha’s eyes widen, ready to explain to him how things will be like going forward for him, how the weight of the world might crush him. Instead she pulls back, stepping aside. _It’s his decision, he can walk away and I won’t blame him_.

Simon’s grin falters a bit, and gives Agatha a small nod. What he hopes to tell her with that, Agatha’s not sure, but she believes the weight of her words, the ones she didn’t say, got through to him. And with that he pushes the double doors open, and she follows him into the makeshift meeting room.

* * *

**PENNY**

These lower Coven members are exhausting. It’s as if they can’t argue with the Old Families anymore so they’ve decided to argue amongst themselves, with _her_ , for sport.

“This is preposterous, a Herald? He’s more likely an accomplice who’s fooled the lot of you. What we need is answers from him! And I’ll be damned if I let a Bunce take credit for that – you’re the one that let him go in the first place!” Penny pushes her horn-rimmed spectacles out of her face, hoping to find strength in whatever was out there to not simply cast a silence spell on these penpushers. _That’s why none of you will ever join the upper echelons of the Coven; you’re not even pretending to care about anyone else_.

She glares at the doors as one of them gets pushed inward. _If it’s another one of these numpties ready to call me a traitor or usurper I swear to Morgana, Merlin and my own grandmother I’ll –_

In pops a head of messy golden curls, muted by the torchlight. Her expression softens a bit, surprisingly happy to see Simon back on his feet. Agatha sails in after him letting the door close behind her, head held high and unmoved by the squabbling of the Coven all climbing out of their chairs and over each other to get a first look at Simon.

“The Pretender, the Heretic,” one sneers, which evidently goes over Simon’s head who seems more preoccupied with the plate of scones in front of him. That said, the way that Agatha’s hovering over him suggests that Penny isn’t the only person who has Simon’s wellbeing somewhere on their list of priorities.

“Stop with this name calling, it’s unbecoming, even for you,” Penny says finally getting up, “No matter what you may _think_ happened, the truth is that Natasha Pitch called out to him for help moments before…”

“Just because that woman threatened her way to chair of this Conclave doesn’t make her word trustworthy. How do we even know he’s not a tool from Tevinter to destroy us?”

“I’m from the Free Marches, or at least that’s where I grew up,” Simon says as he polishes the last of the plate of scones. “I’ve never even seen the Temple until yesterday. The Mancunian Camp is quite a ways from, well anything.” Penny raises an eyebrow at the rest of the Coven men, inviting any more questions that they may have. _Better to hear it from the horse’s mouth, now that he’s done with his feeding_.

“I still think it’s best that we keep him locked up until we get a better picture of what we are dealing with, of who are we dealing with,” another says glaring at Simon, who’s now picking at his cuticles.

“You do realise he’s literally the only one that can close the Rifts right?” Penny points out, looking to Agatha who seems to have rolled her eyes so far back that may be back in her home in Orlais now.

“Bunce, just because – ” the most bookish of them start, but stops to look at the entrance of their little meeting room.

* * *

**BAZ**

It’d be a strange few days. Something was gnawing at him from insides, worried for the disaster that was Simon Snow. _Only an idiot would dive right into this mess without even asking about the stakes. Stupidly brave or just stupid? He’d be eaten alive back in Tevinter_.When Dev commented that he was quite the looker, Baz only glared at him. _That’s the only reason I care, Ferelden is severely lacking of attractive men_. His denial aside, once he heard that Snow was up, he hurried to find him. To do what, he’s not sure, but he tells himself it’s because Snow is the last person to see his mother alive.

As he approaches the double doors he hears raised voices, no doubt revolving what to do with the world’s new saviour. Stomping down the nerves of seeing Snow again, in much more favourable conditions this time, he steels his expression and pushes the double doors open. Waiting for all eyes to turn to him before stepping in.

“Dramatic as always,” Dev mutters as they step in.

“As fun as it is to listen to your circular arguments, it would appear that you are all at an impasse, which is unfortunate, because I was quite enjoying that,” Baz says, “I see the Chosen One is alive and well.” His attention is on Snow, the corners of his lips covered in crumbs, and a few more down the front of his shirt. But he’s alive, and looking well rested since their initial meeting, the mass of curls on his head mussed from sleep, but nonetheless beautiful.

“What do you want Basilton?” Bunce asks, clearly exhausted from dealing with the Coven men. The dark side of Baz thinks about leaving her out to the dogs a bit longer, but with the state of the world getting worse every day, he pushes on.

“I think it’d be best for us to dismiss jailing Snow as an option. As Bunce points out, he is the sole means we have right now to close the Rifts,” Baz says.

“There are others?” Simon asks, and Baz arches an eyebrow. _Seriously? In all of Thedas, him?_

“Throughout the land, actually,” Wellbelove says, her forehead creasing slightly. _Oh my, they’ve not told him_.

“Not only that, Snow. Even with your stunt at the Temple, it didn’t actually close the Breach,” Baz says, married with an insincere grin. It was fun watching Snow work his mind into overdrive, as if his mind and mouth worked at different speeds given that he was just gaping at Baz like a fish.

“It did stop growing though,” Dev adds, earning him a look of betrayal from Baz.

“Regardless, despite this fact, Snow is still the only option we have. And if I’m not wrong,” he looks to Bunce, “With more training and Snow actually being able to control his Mark, he may be able to close the Breach for good.”

**PENNY**

She hates that he’s correct.

**BAZ**

Satisfied by Bunce’s silence, he turns his attention back to Snow, who’s not said anything despite the majority of the conversation being about him.

“So, are you going to collapse every time you close one of these things? If so we might have a problem,” Baz waits for a reaction, silently praying that the Mark didn’t actually have any lasting damage on Simon. He might be _prickly_ (as Dev delicately put it once), but he’s not a monster.

It would appear his concern was misplaced as Snow’s already marching towards him, “You bloody try this then,” a fist gently landing on his chest. Simon’s nostrils are flared and he’s glaring at Baz as if he were a demon to be torn limb from limb. It might have scared him if he didn’t have a good three inches on Snow, forcing him to stare up toward Baz with his plain blue eyes.

“Ah, but I can’t you see, I’m not the one with a Golden Destiny? It’s all anyone will talk about here,” Baz leans forward slightly, smirking at Snow, noticing the moles and freckles dotted on his face, like constellations in the sky, but these stars were within Baz’s reach. 

“What Golden Destiny?” Simon growls, stepping back to look at Wellbelove and Bunce confused. Then it occurs to Baz, that no one in this room has bothered to actually let Snow know of his position. _Were they going to tell him anything, or did they expect the pieces to just fall into place for him?_

“We really did get saddled with the worst Chosen One that’s ever been chosen, haven’t we?” Baz muses, “Oh have you not heard? Word is that you are the Herald, marked by Merlin and Morgana, blessed with an unprecedented amount of magick to deliver Thedas to salvation.”

Bunce quietly follows up with the wording of the prophecy itself, “One will come to end magick, and one will bring its fall.”

**SIMON**

_Chosen One? Herald?_

“What?”

**BAZ**

If this is to go anywhere, they really need to keep the lynchpin for all of this informed. It was painful to watch Snow work himself up, but nonetheless entertaining. Content to watch Snow try to work out the right thing to say, one can imagine Baz’s annoyance when one of the Coven harpies pipes up, desperate to show some semblance of leadership.

“What we need is answers, not some myth and prophecy. The people deserve to know what happened to their leaders!”

 _Answers_.

Baz’s mind is suddenly racing through his studies, and if the look on Bunce’s face were any indication, it would appear that she’s reached the same conclusion. “Bunce, these are your laws…” Etiquette would dictate that as a guest from Tevinter, it would be best for Baz to defer to someone of Ferelden, and who better to defer to than an heir to the respected academics that made up the Bunce line?

**PENNY**

_Answers_. Even she can appreciate whilst the situation calls for it, to proceed with such a course of action would be insanity. Sure, her mother would back her, and possibly swing the support of what’s left of the Coven if she ropes in her father as well, but she has her doubts. It is an ancient law, one that was created during a previous Age to bring answers and restore order, one that ultimately lead to the Coven’s formation itself.

Looking around the room, she can see that the gravity of the situation is finally sinking in with Simon. She had hoped to break it to him gently. _Trust Basilton to come in and wreck my plans for a deft touch_. What was more concerning was seeing the cogs turn on these lower ranked members of the Coven, they’re all so keen to get to the top they aren’t even considering the magnitude of skill and willpower to actually rise to the occasion.

“I,” Penny starts, ignoring Baz’s smug sneer and the confusion on Simon’s face, “I hereby invoke the Edict of Micah.” She holds her breath, waiting for the shoe to drop for everyone else.

“You can’t – ”

“I hereby invoke the Edict of Micah. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, find those responsible and restore order,” marching towards the Coven men, she squares herself, “With or without the Coven’s approval.”

The air is thick with tension, Penny’s voice determined, and finger firm. None of the Coven men knew how to react.

“You have the support of the House of Pitch,” Baz says calmly after the silence stretches. Looking directly at Penny, daring her to question his motives.

“The House of Grimm as well,” Dev offers up as well. Penny’s grateful in the show of support from the two – getting Coven support is one thing, but having heirs of the two most prominent families of Tevinter wad going to lend credence to their claim of legitimacy. _This threat is bad enough that even the Tevenes are joining in to help._

She does suspect that Baz has a more vested interest in finding out answers than most, but she’s not going to turn away support. In any case, watching these Coven men storm out in a huff was well worth it, after the headache they’ve been causing her all afternoon.

**DEV**

He knew Baz didn’t voice his support lightly. He wasn’t even sure if Baz had the authority to commit his House to the Inquisition, but as the sole heir left, Dev doubted anyone could really stop him. Even if they did, Dev didn’t have it in him to deny Baz’s want, his need, to find out what happened to his mother.

Baz loved his mother dearly, and Dev respected his aunt greatly. Despite everyone saying Uncle Malcolm married up and their union was nothing but consolidating the two families power and purity, Aunt Natasha never made him or any of the Grimms feel they were any lesser than her. Rumour has it that she was the one that insisted on Baz carrying both family names as his birth right, dismissing naysayers that Uncle Malcolm gave up his name for his wife.

Naturally, Dev’s own father moved to make him the heir of House of Grimm. “Out of necessity,” he argued, for fear that Baz’s loyalties couldn’t be split between the two should conflict ever arise. Dev knew he would always be second to Baz, be it achievement or lineage, but if there was ever a time to prove his worth as the future of the House, then standing by this new world order as the Grimm heir may be the time.

Of course, he couldn’t let his cousin go run off and die on his own, but he couldn’t lie to himself and say there were no benefits to taking Baz’s lead and backing the Inquisition now during its infancy.

What was more curious was the scene unfolding before him. Penny was speaking to Simon, asking him to stand with the Inquisition.

“So now you trust me?” Simon deadpans, “do you really think I’m the Herald?”

“I was wrong. Maybe I still am. But I, we, can’t deny that you are what we needed when we need it,” Penny explains, only to be greeted by one of Simon’s shrugs.

“Help us fix this, before it’s too late,” her voice becoming small, the earlier conviction and bravado all gone. Simon sticks out his tongue as he struggles to find an answer, Dev didn’t need to look at Baz to know he’s probably halfway between frothing with rage and denying his desires. That was a mess he wasn’t going to involve himself in, for Baz’s sake and his own.

“We aren’t ready, without a leader, and now, no support from the Coven,” Agatha pointed out. Trust her to shirk responsibility, but Dev couldn’t blame her. A woman of her beauty and upbringing would have been the perfect pawn to play, the perfect barter in Orlais. It’s no wonder she took off to Ferelden, leaving all of that behind.

“I guess we’ll see how this goes,” Simon says suddenly, reaching a hand out, “Penny.” She smiles at him and gives his hand a firm shake.

* * *

**AGATHA**

Later that evening, Agatha watches on as a workman nails something onto the front of the doors of Mummers House. A declaration, marked with the seal of the Inquisition – a stylized eye with sunbursts at the bottom of the eye, mirroring the Sunburst iconography that decorated Thedas – from churches to royal households.

“You don't look pleased,” a voice comes from behind her; the distinct accent of the Free Marchers gives away who’s approaching her.

“I’m not the one that they’re calling Herald, Simon,” she says, waiting for him to join her, “Are you sure about this?”

He shrugs, “Whatever I am, all I know is that I’m the only one that can close these things. And if people need to put a label on it, a Herald, then sure, I can be that for them.”

**SIMON**

_The Herald of Merlin and Morgana, huh?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND IT BEGINS!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr here: http://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com
> 
> I'm slowly drawing up some fanart for this AU and will update here and on Tumblr as well!


	3. First Day on the Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not just a simple goat herder are you?

**SIMON**

Who would have known the first foray of the great Inquisition would involve herding goats. Villagers living on the outskirts of Mummers reported several Rifts in the area, and so here they were, strolling across the lush farmlands, closing Rifts that were disrupting the livestock and livelihoods of these villagers. It seems that not even the cold winds of the Frostback Mountain could deter the demons.

Baz was not too enthused about the outing, having an aversion to the cold. He hardly a choice though, Agatha had opted out the second the report came in, preferring to deal with correspondence addressed the Inquisition. He had pinned his hopes on Penny going, but she decided to drag Dev away to train up whatever troops that decided to stay with the Inquisition.

“We have very little broadsword wielders, and even less that can fight and cast. Might as well put him to use,” Penny said to Simon as she marched out with Dev from the meeting room.

“You’ll be fine Snow, you’ll swing your sword around, Baz will incinerate anything that looks at him wrong, and then you can just wiggle your fingers and _poof_ , Rift dealt with,” Dev joked, leaving Simon slack jawed and Penny chuckling as they went off to the training grounds (it was hardly that – it’s just an empty patch of land by the village stables).

Simon didn’t take much convincing though, there was some concern that he should have rested more, but he was itching to get away from the mothering. Having grown up largely without anyone to care for him, the onset of attention since becoming the Herald at twenty-five felt foreign to him, if not suffocating.

Fighting, training and a mission he could deal with. It really wasn’t that different from when he was based at the Mancunian Camp, but instead of occasionally being ask to guard a dignitary or some posh twat passing through the area, he’s now the person turn to for decisions, if only out of deference to his divine appointment.

As he does with thoughts that are too complicated to deal with right now, he pushed aside thoughts of his alleged destiny to save everyone from some vague threat. Choosing instead to focus on what Baz had said earlier. Despite him being an absolute prick, taking every opportunity to remind everyone how overwhelmingly unprepared Simon is for what laid in front of him, and him being a ‘Vint, his theory about the Mark made sense.

The first Rift he closed, Simon wasn’t sure what he was doing, if what he was doing was even correct. Did he over do it which lead to him to pass out? _I’d rather lose my arm than fall back like that again onto Baz. He shits on me enough as it is_.

To his relief, the next several Rifts were sealed with little incident, though the second one Simon did grip on to the ground through his boots, refusing to even stumble. He glares at Baz after it closed. _Take that you posh twat_.

“Boy am I pleased the Herald learnt how to stand on his own two feet, what an occasion,” Baz sings without so much as looking at Simon. Resisting the urge to pull at his hair, Simon stalks off, though he does notice after that the frequency of Baz’s insults drops as the day goes on.

**BAZ**

With less flames, dead bodies and general pandemonium, Baz takes it upon himself to watch Snow. What was interesting to him was, despite the overwhelming magick flowing within him, Snow makes no effort to tap into it, to cast any spells. Then again, what he’s doing with his sword seems to be just fine. To most, Snow looked like a brash fighter, all brawn and no brain, but underneath the strength there is something that resembles deliberate movement and calculation. Baz knew it wasn’t talent though, but sheer training – what he lacked from birth, he more than made up for it with later effort and practice.

In truth, Baz was keeping such a close eye on Snow because he was genuinely worried that the next Rift he closed would render him unconscious again. No one knew really what his Mark does, just that it’s connected to the Fade and it can mend the Veil, keeping the two realms separate. Was the Mark drawing on the Fade like mages do, or was it Simon’s life force that powers its restorative properties? Baz didn’t have the answers, and though academically they were intriguing, he didn’t want to find out through trial and error.

Seeing that Snow seemed to be grasping how to use the Mark, knowing when to push himself and when to let time do the work, Baz does relax a bit – not that he’d let Snow know he was worried in the first place. The least he can do to reconcile what he wanted to do (praise him, congratulate him) and what he was doing (keep up his insults – he had no business entertaining these _thoughts_ of Snow while his mother’s murderer was at large), was to insult Snow less. _The worst olive branch these plains have ever seen_.

Soon there was only one reported Rift left in the area. Though Snow didn’t look it, the way he welcomed the tea and biscuits from the goat herder suggested that this was probably more tiring than he was letting on. Baz was faring better, but he doubts even he can keep up with demons for much longer.

**SIMON**

Ebb, the goat herder, is surprisingly calm about everything despite the whole debacle at the Temple taking place in her proverbial backyard. Not to mention the faint green stretch of sky, whilst no longer rumbling, is no less disconcerting for the average folk.

“Thank you lads. Didn’t think you’d be sent out so fast, you official types always take ages,” she says whilst handing out cups of tea she’s been warming by her little campsite to Simon and his troops. Even Baz took her up on the offer, which surprised Simon given his expectation of Baz being physically incapable of manners, pleasantries and gratitude. _So it’s just me he’s awful to, sounds ‘bout right_.

“We’ll be out of your hair soon and have it dealt with, thanks for the biscuits though, it does hit the spot,” grateful for the snack. Ebb’s a tall woman with unkempt hair and under layers and layers of shawls, cardigans, large earthy jewellery, her strong hands holding onto a simple herding staff. She was warm, friendly and obviously cared about her goats very much.

“There’s no rush, these eager little ones are just nosy and love to wander,” petting one of them as she turns to Simon, smiling as well. “Sometimes they all decide to explore and I just follow them around.” There’s a lilt to her voice that Simon quite place.

“I take it you’re not from around here then, you don’t sound like it,” Simon says biting into another biscuit.

“I am not, but I take it neither are you,” she replies, pointing at the corner of her lip, letting Simon know the crumbs he’s collected there, “I’m from the Wavering Wood. But these brave ones decided to leave home one day, so where they go, I follow. I know, I know, I’m barely a herder as it is!” it was a hearty laugh, and Simon can’t help but smile as well.

“Though I guess with everything going on, it might be time to go home. The Woods, you see, they’re special, they protect me,” she says, playing with one of the many pendants she has, “and in turn, we protect it.”

“The goats?” Simon asks, looking at the dozen or so gathered around them.

“No, they are just great for company. I meant me and my brother, he’s not as lively these days, but he does his best,” she says, melancholy suddenly washing over her. 

Just as Simon was about to reach out to Ebb he hears “Snow,” from the other side of Ebb’s camp. “If you want to get this Rift dealt with whilst there’s still light out, we better hurry up.”

Simon gives Baz a nod and dusts himself off, “He’s an eager one isn’t he?” Ebb asks, to which Simon just shrugs, figuring there was no point getting into the topic of Baz Pitch with a random goat herder.

“Thanks again Ebb. If you’re still around and need help, just send word to Mummers House.”

* * *

Closing Rifts were never a walk in the park, but the addition of sudden roaming goats that seem unphased by the parade of demons springing up does make it slightly more difficult for Simon to go about his usual fighting style. He couldn't stab a demon and take two steps towards the Rift before being turned around by one of them. It brings him no comfort that Baz was undistracted by the added challenge, elegantly sending out of bolts of fire and ice without any of the beams coming anywhere near the goats.

Ducking under a swipe from a shade demon, he makes his way towards the Rift. He has noticed that closing them either sucks the demons back in or at least seriously weakening them, either would be very helpful right about now.

Just as before, he holds his palm out, drawing on the heat running through the veins and lets the familiar golden light pour out from his palm. The demons definitely notice, shrieking and abandoning whatever target they were dealing with and making their way to him.

“C’mon, close damn it!” Simon mutters. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the same shade demon closing in on him. _I can’t land a hit even if I swing at it with my left hand. Shit._

**BAZ**

Baz is ready to immolate all the goats running around, it might upset the goat herder, but he can imagine the influx of occupants at Mummers would welcome the roast lamb for dinner. Then again that’s below even him – he was doing a fine job lowering his standing in Snow’s eyes, torching another’s livestock seems excessive.

Though Snow makes it to the Rift and it was closing, it’s progressing far too slow for the current number of demons left. He can’t exactly stop the shade demon advancing on Snow without opening himself up to this flying despair demon flitting about taking cheap shots at him.

Suddenly a flare of purple lightning erupts from the ground, frying the shade demon causing it to instantly disintegrate. It buys Snow just enough time to close the Rift, sucking in the remaining demons back into the Fade.

Baz immediately scans the ravine for its caster, doubting any of the Inquisition troops here were mages to begin with. A rustle in the shrubbery, a flurry of shawls and cardigans is all that Baz needs to figure out who it was. _Not just a simple goat herder are you?_

**SIMON**

“Hey,” Simon says, jogging toward Baz. His grey eyes were scanning around the ravine for something – Simon assumes it was for any demons that have escaped. “Thanks for that.” It does make Simon happy that Baz would choose to intervene whilst they’re in battle – maybe the bite is just how he talks to people he deems beneath him. _He wouldn’t be the first_. And because Baz is becoming predictable, he just scowls at Simon before heading off back towards Mummers.

* * *

By the time they make it back to Mummers, Simon’s ready to devour one of Ebb’s goats. Baz saunters off the second they make it back, probably to plot for some poor nobleman’s downfall back in Tevinter with Dev whilst gagging at the food they have here. Simon though, couldn't care less about the quality right now. Thankfully, no one comments on his portions as he’s helping himself to the assortment of meats, stew and bread and he makes his way to Penny and Agatha sitting by one of the tables in the makeshift dining hall of Mummers House.

“How was it, your first outing as the Herald,” Penny asks before Simon pulls out his chair. Simon just shrugs and digs into his dinner, earning him a chastising look from Agatha who had the pleasure of sitting across from them.

“Y’know, like the other day. With less, y’know” Simon says whilst waving his fork around, “chaos.” Penny doesn’t seem impressed with his answer, but drops the topic anyway, letting Simon eat his dinner in peace. Not that it takes long before he’s done and the two women see that he’s ready to actually respond like the Herald he’s supposed to be.

“So, you heading back out tomorrow then, to close the rest in the area” Agatha asks.

“There’s no need, unless more have been reported. Baz and I, and the other soldiers cleared all of them today. Met a nice lady though, from the Woods, with a lot of goats,” Simon says, almost too proudly.

“Oh you met Ebb?” Penny chimes in, “Bit of a strange one, but one of those types that you just know there’s not a bad bone in her body. She offered to help tend the wounded during the incident at the Temple. She just left the other day, but I think you were still out of it then.”

“She comes and goes as she pleases, the villagers here say she shows up every once in a while and just helps out. Be it with the crops, repairs, tend to the livestock during a pregnancy, the works,” Agatha adds, “Must be nice to just be able to up and leave at a moment’s notice.”

“Well, we can tomorrow. The Rifts here are dealt with so it’s not like we have anything to do, and we’re still waiting on word to arrive about the locations of others right?” Simon says excitedly. Though his enthusiasm does wane dramatically when Penny and Agatha exchange a look.

“We actually have more official business tomorrow, we have visitors. Or rather, a diplomatic mission, of sorts,” Agatha says.

“They’re a political group, very fringe. I don’t think the Coven’s properly addressed their standing yet,” Penny explains, “but like any new group, it might be worthwhile to hear them out at least. It’ll certainly help if our goals align and they have resources.”

Simon nods along, agreeing with the others that the size they are now, they weren’t exactly in the position to refuse friends. “So who are these people exactly?”

“The Mage’s Men.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember taking forever to realise I could actually leave the Hinterlands when I was on my first run through of DAI. And like the game, I promise the plot is gong somewhere. Just need to set up...things.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr here: http://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated! Thank you!


	4. The Mage's Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But we can. More accurately, our Herald can,” Premal says turning to Simon, “With your divine calling and strength, together with our understanding of the Veil and the Fade we can give Tevinter back to its people, not just those with the right pedigree.”

**SIMON**

The Mage’s Men seemed like nice enough people, and on principle, Simon found himself sympathetic to their cause. They sought magickal equality, to even the playing ground between mages and Normals alike. The world they lived had always saw mages, or at least those magically inclined, as above others. Having seen what accomplished mages could do it made sense that Normal folk gave them deference, if not obeyed their word, out of awe and sometimes fear.

That being said, it’s not the like Coven were blind to the fact that for centuries they were made up of solely mages with little representation from those who can’t just conjure a fire or will a short burst of rain to avoid a drought. Last he heard, they were working towards opening up positions for Normals at the top, realising their overreliance on magick has made them complacent and lazy. Simon was surprised by the amount of times Agatha had spelled a cup of tea, seeing no need to wait for the water to boil.

Despite the briefing from Penny and Agatha, and his own opinions on the matter, meeting the Mage’s Men, was a different experience entirely.

**PENNY**

Simon may not be a man for ceremony and pomp, but Penny did find it slightly rude that the leader of the Mage’s Men hadn’t shown up for their meeting. It would be helpful to know the man behind the group, because whilst their cause was undoubtedly fair, how their leader behaves would be insightful. If anything, it might hint to whether the cause is genuine, or an opportunistic man jumping at the insecurities and tensions across Thedas to grab power. The last thing Penny wanted was for the Inquisition to back the wrong horse, or Simon being pulled in all kinds of directions to be everything at once.

As luck would have it, they sent her brother as a representative. If she couldn’t meet the man himself at least she could poke and prod at her brother for more information – information that they otherwise wouldn’t have divulged.

As Penny walked in the small meeting room, Simon’s already been making small talk with the Mage’s Men, exchanging tips on how to deal with the demons.

“Pen!” her brother calls, getting up to give her a hug.

“Prem!” she beams, leaning into his arms, getting on her tiptoes to reach his shoulders (she’s _not_ short; everyone is just unhelpfully stretched out). She can’t help but warm to his smile, it was comforting to see a family member. It reminds herself that even with everything going on, there’s still a place, a people, she can call home. “It’s so good to see you.”

Premal’s expression mirrors hers, happy to see her after running off to join the Mage’s Men earlier last year. Penny had supported him fully – he was out there trying to make the world a better place for everyone. She just didn’t expect to be caught up in a movement herself, not that she was the type to sit around and wait for things to happen, she always figured her strengths lied in academia and research. Then again, if not of her, no one here (with the exception of Baz, maybe, no matter how inappropriate it may be) would have known to turn to the Edict of Micah.

* * *

**SIMON**

He saw how happy Penny was talking to her brother, spending the majority of this meeting catching up with each other, swapping stories of their escapades. Granted, the Inquisition was still in their early days, but what they lacked in time, they more than made up for it with their detail.

What was interesting though was just how little the Mage featured in these stories about rallies, protests and investigations about the origins of magick. Simon wasn’t sure if this was a deliberate choice by Premal to maintain mystery and intrigue about their leader, or was the Mage just a figurehead. Either way, despite the last two hours of listening to Penny and Premal (occasionally another would chime in with a short comment or anecdote about a particular mission), Simon was no more clued in on their motives or goals beyond the vague message of equality.

“So, how are you going to do it?” Simon asked, sitting up a bit taller, squaring his shoulders a bit. Whether or not _they_ believed he was the Herald, he needed to at least _act_ like it. _If I do this enough maybe even I’ll start believing in it_.

“Do what?” Premal asks, Penny looking at him with an unreadable expression. _Hey, it’s not like she’s asking me to stop_.

“Equalise it. Magick. Isn’t it something you’re born with? Like, in your blood?” Simon clarifies, “Not that I don’t agree with you all, just, I’m not sure on the…mechanics of it all.”

“You are correct, it is very much so a matter of inheritance and birthright. Are you magickal, Herald?” Premal asks. Simon shrugs in response, not because he didn’t know what to say, but he honestly doesn’t know. He knew he was connected to the Fade in a way no one ever has been, but he’s never thought of casting a spell, and no one’s ever suggested it to him.

“I wasn’t before, but now…” Simon trails off, staring down into his palm.

“It’s not something we have explored yet. It seems best to take these things slowly, there’s still much we don’t know about the Mark, let alone the Fade,” Penny jumps in.

“But you are connected with the Fade, no?” Premal responds, “There may be hope yet for others like you. Born without magick but otherwise gain access to the Fade later on in life. The Veil is so selective with who it chooses to allow through. Just like those bloody ‘Vints.”

Granted, Simon’s not met that many Tevenes, but Dev seems nice enough – he didn’t think twice about extending a hand to him when they first met. Was it because they needed him? Would Dev have looked at him the way Baz did if he didn’t have the Mark.

“Those puritanical inbreds, obsessed with their bloodlines and deadset on keeping magick amongst only the most powerful in society. They are what’s wrong with this world, and we are hoping to prevent Ferelden from becoming that,” Premal says, “We can fix Ferelden, and we can fix Tevinter too, given the time and resources,” there’s a gleam his eye that Simon recognises as ambition, and a flicker of concern crosses Penny’s face.

“What do you mean by fix?” she asks cautiously, “You can’t exactly waltz in, can you?”

“But we can. More accurately, our Herald can,” Premal says turning to Simon, “With your divine calling and strength, together with our understanding of the Veil and the Fade we can give Tevinter back to its people, not just those with the right pedigree.”

**PENNY**

“We can’t declare _war_ on Tevinter, that was the whole _point_ of the Conclave, to stop the fighting and constant threat of conflict,” Penny exclaims. When Premal went off to join the Mage’s Men, he was idealistic, but also a pacifist, “If we are to see change, we must work from the inside and excise the bad parts,” he had told her. Penny was unsure of what to make of her brother right now.

“Even if the Conclave didn’t end up going up in smoke, what would they have realistically achieved? A decade of peace? Half a decade? What Thedas needs is a permanence, and it sure won’t come if those Magisters in Tevinter have anything to say about it.

_Well this took a turn, didn’t it?_

“Prem – ” she begins to say, processing what he’s saying and trying to figure out if there’s a compromise they can reach.

Of course, because Morgana decided that today would not be her day, Penny hears the double doors fly open. She doesn’t even need to look to know who it is, she does wonder how long he’s been waiting to make his entrance. _He certainly has flair. I’ll give him that_.

**SIMON**

Soldier or not, Simon cannot endorse a bloody war (and it will be bloody) with Tevinter, not with the world off its axis and demons roaming around terrifying people with little to defend themselves. Even after all this is over, it would take years to recover. With most of the leadership gone, cities, guilds, even the Coven needs to come to grasp with a power shift and the changes that will bring. The last thing anyone needs is a war to further divide the People, the Orlesians and the Tevene.

Another thing they don't need right now is to hear any opinion the upper echelons of Tevinter society, so of course Baz makes his grand entrance. If his robes didn’t give him away as a Tevene, then the three dangling earrings on his left earlobe would. Simon had initially thought it was a personal style, but he noticed Dev had them as well. Agatha tried to explain to him that this was an old Teven custom to denote status, but Simon had tuned it out, distracted by the iridescent glow as the light bounced of the pearls.

Premal seemed well aware of who Baz was, and Baz was wearing an expression that not only invited a challenge, but one that Simon sees only when Baz knows he’s going to get the last word (or kill shot. It’s interesting how many of their exchanges centre around killing things these days).

“A visionary we have here,” Baz sneers, “Do tell me how you think declaring war on Tevinter when the Thedas’s days are numbered is going to help out the Normals?”

“Given you guys had a millennia to do some good for this world, and have done nothing but celebrate your own decadence and hedonism, it’s time someone changed that,” Premal replies.

“And what better time for a change when the Old Families are weak and devastated by loss, such honour you all have,” Baz shoots back.

“Is that not what you’re doing here? Ensuring that the Old Families, the _Pitches_ are to be thanked should the Inquisition succeed? Why else would you involve yourselves, this isn’t exactly comfortable for you Magisters.”

“His mother,” Simon blurts out, “She was there. And we’re looking for answers.” If looks could kill, Simon’s pretty sure Baz would have eviscerated him.

“Be quiet Snow, that doesn’t concern you,” Baz snaps, before turning back to Premal, “If you think Orlais will stand by and watch Ferelden invade Tevinter, you’d be sorely mistaken. Who’s to say you won’t target them next? If opulence is an issue, surely Orlais must fall as well, no?” Baz reasons – the way that he slipped back in his mask, from exposed (by Simon) to being infallible (to Premal) fascinated Simon. “By all means, drag the entire world into a war, I’m sure the Normals will thank you for it.”

He watches on as Premal fights to contain his rage at Baz, for Penny’s sake probably. Then again, what read as confidence could easily be read as arrogance too, and Baz was definitely _confident_. Penny has been uncharacteristically quiet throughout this, Simon suspects she’s trying to find a happy medium between them. He may not always have the right words, but he needs to get his thoughts out, “The Inquisition is for all of Thedas,” he interjects, “We have no interests other than to restore order, to calm the storm we are going through, and find those responsible.”

“Herald, surely you’re not trusting these selfish ‘Vints,” Premal implores, “They’ll stab you in the back before you know it.”

Simon looks over to Baz, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, “Tevinter has the same right to fight as any of us,” he chews on the inside of his mouth, “I can’t speak for everyone in Tevinter, but I can speak on Baz and Dev. They’ve been with us since the first Rift, and they’ve given me no reason to doubt them.”

“You’re choosing them, over your own? Normals who can’t even begin to think about fighting back?” Premal accuses, “And you? The order these men will bring will be oppressive and leave Thedas in a darker place than it already is,” pointing at Penny.

“Prem, don’t say that,” Penny looks affronted by her brother’s words.

“We’re choosing to put our differences aside for now, until the very immediate threat is dealt with. How the Pitches and the Grimms and whoever else want to carry themselves after is not a concern of this Inquisition. Not if they’re here to help us close the Breach,” Simon argues, furious that Premal would turn on even Penny, who has stayed out of this exchange because she’s torn between duty and family. “ _This Mark is yours and solely yours”. Maybe this is what Agatha was on about before_.

Premal looks at them, Penny on the verge of angry tears, and Baz pointedly not looking at him all, picking at some imaginary lint. “I believe we best make our leave then,” resigned in his defeat, “I just didn’t want you on the wrong side of all this Pen.”

“Stay safe Prem,” she says, her tone firm and her resolve clear. She will stand with the Inquisition, with Simon’s decision, his decision to accept the help offered by Baz, despite all that he represents, and save Thedas.

“You as well,” his words laced with regret, before leading the other Mage’s Men out of the room.

“You alright Penny?” Simon asks, reaching over to her with his hand out.

“I will be,” taking his hand, as if to reassure _him_ , “I just hope he sees that we’re not his enemy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY PENNY! No one told your brother to go join the Mage's Men, so that's on him.
> 
> This was a bit tougher to write because I didn't want to just make them bad for bad's sake, and give them a legitimate reason for existing in this world. Not sure how well I pulled it off, but I hope it's not too bad.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter. The next couple of ones will be less Simon/Baz centric, but they'll be there!
> 
> You guys can follow me on Tumblr here: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com
> 
> I promised fanart, and I wasn't lying, I'm just waiting for my markers to arrive...


	5. An Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And what good would that do?” Baz says, moving to crouch by the bed.
> 
> “I don’t know, I really don't"

**SIMON**

A few weeks has passed since the visit from the Mage’s Men. The Inquisition was making progress with the Rifts, and Simon was getting better at controlling his Mark. Even so, they had made little headway in figuring out how to properly close the Breach, and indeed, who was responsible for the explosion at the Temple.

In between closing Rifts, Simon hovered around Penny, and eventually Agatha had to tell him that he’s been anything but subtle about it.

“Simon you are many things, and tact is not one of them,” she says one night over dinner, “and don’t tell me the debacle with the numpties in the Storm Coast required a three hour debrief.”

“Fine, laugh at me for caring about Penny,” Simon grumbles in between spoonfuls of the nug stew, “I just want to make sure she’s alright.”

“And she appreciates it, just don’t coddle her,” Agatha smiles, “Plus with how she threw herself into her research about the Fade, I’m pretty sure that’s her working things out. She needs to keep busy.”

And so, Simon lets her be, only popping in to find her when he’s back from a mission, and a lengthy complaint about just how wet the Crestwood swamps are. If she was feeling any guilt over Premal and the Mage’s Men, she doesn’t show it, and Simon can see without his smothering, they are back how they were. Namely, Simon running head first into a situation, Penny desperately planning around the unpredictable force that is him, and emerging victorious, somehow.

Penny seemed to find comfort in doing what she does best – research. She’s worked out that the Veil, other than just being a barrier between their world and the Fade, acts as some sort of filter for magick, and the strength of a mage’s connection with the Fade determines the strength of their magick. She’s not sure if it’s entirely dictated by inheritance, because there have been stories of Normals giving birth to children that were magickally inclined, who then later founded House. She guesses that that’s what the Mage’s Men are working on. “They might not be out to get us, but we can’t expect them to be helping us at this point. So, let’s do our own reading,” she had said.

As such, he finds himself eating with Agatha most evenings since the troops seem too intimidated by him. The one time he did try to sit with them for dinner, he swears more people choked on their food than any other meal in the history of histories. He might be the Herald, but he still eats like a soldier, and is still fundamentally a man. Simon worries that the longer this goes on, the more removed he would seem to everyone.

Well, not everyone, he can always count on Baz to see him as nothing more than a man (affirmed by Simon’s own desire to deck that smug grin off his face – no divine being would do so). Every other time he’s eating with Agatha, regardless of the content of their conversation, Baz would butt in and make a show of it. Be it to highlight his intellect (he knows an alarming amount of early Ferelden poetry), catch Agatha up on the gossip at the Orlais court, or just to make her laugh at Simon’s expense. It wasn't Simon’s business who Baz wanted to court or seduce – he just wished it wasn't during one of his favourite times of the day, and in front of him.

Alas, tonight was no different, Agatha was covering her laugh, and Baz was stealing glances at Simon, as if to remind him that he couldn’t get Agatha’s attention even if he tried. _Why he thinks a man and a woman can’t just be friends and enjoy a good roast is beyond me._

“Simon?” Agatha asks, pulling him out of his inner monologue, looking back at her, clearly not having listened to a word he said. _Bet you Baz can multitask, run up a million different plots to embarrass me and still banter with Agatha_.

“Baz was saying he’s received an invitation from the Tevene Diviners,” Agatha says looking to Baz to continue. She’s been handling most of the correspondence sent to the Inquisition, but there are still messages from Tevinter that come through Baz, rare as they are.

“They’re not important, just some superstitious fools. Taking too much stock into the Prophecy, fanatics, really,” Baz brushes off, “They didn’t invite me really, I am but a mouthpiece for our great Herald.”

“What does a Tevene cult want with me? I thought you said the Rifts were entirely in Ferelden?” Simon asks mindlessly, bracing himself for whatever Baz was about to say. _I’m going to bet on two insults and one backhand compliment_.

Baz narrows his eyes at him, “Firstly, they’re not a cult. Secondly, why _would_ a bunch of Magisters obsessed with the Prophecy take interest in you? It’s certainly not for your table manners, or ability to stumble from demon nest into a bronto mating session,” he pauses, but Simon doesn’t engage, choosing instead to polish off the last of the broth with the stale bread. “It’s your Mark, your stupidly powerful ability to draw magick directly from the Fade.”

“Well, regardless of what they are, guessing how you’re very not fussed to see them, I take it we shouldn’t bother right?” Simon says.

“I bother with very little people,” Baz replies simply, ending their exchange.

Before Simon can strike up another conversation with Agatha, he hears hurried footseps. Dev was running towards them, but it would seem he’s after Baz rather than him or Agatha.

“Is it true? Is he here with them?” Dev’s out of breath, no doubt having ran around Mummers looking for Baz.

“Yes it is,” Baz replies, “What of it?” His eyes meeting Dev’s own slate coloured eyes, not at all surprised by Dev’s flushed face.

“I should’ve been told. Baz, I – ” he hurries, exasperated at Baz’s apparent indifference.

“No good would come of it,” Baz cautions. It’s not a look Simon’s ever seen Baz wear – it was pity. But it wasn’t like the ones he gives Simon, there was no malice behind this one; it almost makes Baz look soft. _As if he has a soft side. Then again, maybe he does for family._

“What’s this about?” Simon asks, doing his best to act nonchalant and not just nosy.

“It’s none of – ” Baz snaps, but is interrupted by Dev.

“I have a…friend,” Dev stutters, “And I’ve been told he’s arrived at Ferelden, at Redcliffe. And that Baz has been invited to see them,” the second bit comes out so fast he sounds desperate, just in case Baz spelled him silent.

“Oh is he with the cul…people that you were talking about?” Simon says innocently.

“Yes, he is with the Diviners, at Redcliffe,” Baz grits out slowly, glaring at Simon. He feels his neck heat up, and he wouldn’t put it past Baz to try and boil his blood right here. But that was beside the point, because he sees Dev looking both elated and upset. Whatever this is, it seemed that Baz wasn’t going to change his mind, no matter how hard Dev’s silently pleads.

“Let’s go meet them then,” Simon says casually, standing up and collecting his plate.

Agatha’s surprised, Baz’s seething and Dev is confused but also hopeful.

“Look, if they’re obsessed with the Prophecy, then they might know something we don’t. They must’ve reached out for a reason? Agatha?” Simon turns to her, hoping that her support would stop Baz from objecting. _I guess you spend enough time around schemers and planners they’ll rub off on you._

“Well, there’s no harm in going,” Agatha rationalises, “Any information we can get about the Prophecy would be useful.” Simon counts his blessings for her catching on, he knows she doesn't take much stock in the Prophecy, choosing to focus on the present and to shape a future by her own hand.

“You’re coming with us, right?” Simon says, gesturing at Dev.

After the conversation catches up with him, Dev just simply smiles and nods before darting out the dining hall, as if the meeting can’t come soon enough. “I trust that you can let them know we are to see them?” Simon says whilst grinning at Baz. His rage from earlier gone, but his brows were furrowed, which in turn makes Simon worried. “What’s wrong?”

Standing up, the squeaking from the chair scraping on the floor makes Simon wince, “I just don’t want him hurt. Again.” And with that he heads off after Dev. Watching him walk out, Simon wonders if he made the wrong call, but when he turns to Agatha, she just offers him a small smile and makes her way out as well.

He hoped he was doing the right thing. Dev looked so happy when Simon stepped in, giving him an excuse to go to Redcliffe. In all honesty, Simon’s not entirely sure what Dev’s actually happy to see, or rather who, but it was the least he can do. According to Penny, Dev’s taken his unofficial role as trainer of the Inquisition’s forces quite well, and they love him for it, despite being a ‘Vint. He’s also been a great asset to Simon when he’s running around Ferelden and closing Rifts, adding some balance to his and Baz, be it in battle or at camp. Baz may be a Pitch, but evidently, Grimms were a force to be reckoned with as well.

If Dev can offer up his best to the Inquisition, then the least Simon can do is leverage his newfound fame to let him see an old friend. Simon’s not stupid, but if Dev’s calling him a friend, then Simon will continue to do so until he’s corrected.

* * *

**BAZ**

He gives the door a soft knock before pushing inward. He sees Dev lying on his bed, playing with an earring, two still left in his ear lobe. The picture is so tender it almost makes Baz sick. It wasn’t the object of Dev’s attention that was the problem; it was the owner that was.

“How long have you had that?” Baz asks, leaning against the small desk.

“You were there when he gave it me.”

“Ah yes, I was. So I know how much it hurt the first time.”

Dev stops playing with the earring and looks at Baz, “I just want to see him.”

“And what good would that do?” Baz says, moving to crouch by the bed.

“I don’t know, I really don't," Dev chuckles, “I also don’t know where this is going, if I’ll live to go back home so, I just want to see him again, even if it’ll hurt to watch him go.” Baz offers a small smile of comfort, knowing there was no dissuading Dev. _Love sick fool._

“I’ll send word to Redcliffe tomorrow, and we’ll head out the day after. You’ll see your lover boy soon enough,” standing to leave, he turns back “You just had to drag the bloody Inquisitor along for you lovely reunion didn’t you?”

“Don’t lie Baz, you’re glad he said something,” Dev teased.

“Don’t be confused, we’re taking your heart to be broken, leave me out of this,” Baz sees Dev’s hands up in mock surrender, but smiling brighter than he has in a long time.

**SIMON**

Later that night, Simon struggles to fall asleep.

Baz was confusing at the best of times, but what perplexes Simon the most is how Baz seems to either brood in his quiet corner in the village library, or appear out of nowhere to insult him. Even then, when he does show up to comment on whatever Simon was doing wrong, he always leaves an opening for Simon to fire something back. That is until he’s bored and goes for the lowest blow, taking Simon’s silent fuming as victory and disappearing again.

Tonight he saw a different side of Baz, one that was not made up entirely of stinging words or fiery magick. Somewhere behind those eyes, there was a man who could empathise, sympathise and wholeheartedly care for another.

Simon doesn’t think about why he dreams of stormy grey eyes that night, or why the thought that Baz and Agatha gnaws at his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if not much happens this chapter! This was supposed to be one chapter but it just ballooned, so I decided to split it into two parts. Didn't think you guys would want to read a ~5000 word chapter in one go. 
> 
> Also...five points for guessing who Dev's on about. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter!! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated :)
> 
> Find me on Tumblr here: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	6. The Boy With The Pearl Earring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re still wearing it.”
> 
> “You are too.”

**DEV**

Dev was fairing pretty well given he barely slept last night, then again the horses are doing the majority of the work here. He knew Simon only insisted on going for his benefit, but he was curious as to why the Diviners were suddenly interested in the Inquisition, and selfishly what _he_ was doing with them.

The Diviners always existed, and rarely make any noise. They mainly trade information under the guise of having the powers of clairvoyance. All the Old Families have dealt with them at one point or another. He remembers one year Baz was really sick as a child, and the Diviners had “seen in the stars” he had been turned into a vampire. A rumour quickly quashed, but it’s still whispered on the streets, not that Baz minds, he said it added to his reputation. Whatever the Diviners wanted with the Inquisition, Dev doubted it would be good – Tevenes aren’t known for their altruism or charity work.

As they hand off their horses to the tavern stables, Dev felt a stead thrumming of nervous energy. It had been five years since they’ve seen each other. The last time they did, Dev gave him one of his earrings, and he was given one in return. His were set in gold and the one he received was set in platinum, contrasting nicely against each other. Either no one noticed, or didn’t want to comment, not that he would’ve taken it off, not when it’s the single memento Dev had left.

It had hurt watching him go, but there was nothing Dev could do at the time. He couldn’t stop his family from moving to Orlais to honour a contract to the late Emperor – his family needed him, and Dev couldn’t get in the way of that. Last Dev heard they were moving back to Tevinter. He was sure that they’d meet again after Conclave ended and he returned home. And well, everyone knew how that turned out.

He feels a warm hand on his shoulder, “You ready?” blue eyes and a lopsided grin next to him.

“One of these days, helping people out like this without question is going to get you in trouble, you know that?” Dev remarked.

Simon just shrugs, “You wanted to come, and it’s not like we don’t have a reason, right?”

With that Simon heads off into the tavern. Baz gives him a look before following behind. _Guess it’s time to face the music_.

**SIMON**

If the Tevenes (apparently ‘Vints is _rude_ ) wanted to seem less like the villains of every story ever told, they should really work on their presentation, and this was coming from Simon of all people. Even if the tavern weren’t empty, he didn’t need Baz to tell him, he knew exactly who he was looking for the second after stepping in. With the exception of a man around their age, with a fiery mop of hair, the rest were dressed in dark robes, draped in expensive jewellery and hoods. _Definitely a cult._

“Herald of Merlin and Morgana,” one stands up to say before bowing. It does take a second for Simon to react, the man was a hulking figure, a Minotaur, poorly hidden under his hood. _Suppose it’s less a disguise and more dramatic._ He reaches out tentatively to shake his hand and he hears Baz scoff. “I see Master Pitch and…Master Grimm has decided to join us. Marvellous.” Simon was well aware that Baz was only the one here with him, because Dev’s eyes have been glued on the fellow with the red hair since stepping into the tavern.

“Get to it, the Herald is a busy man,” Baz demanded, plopping himself into a chair.

“Direct as ever,” their leader laughs, “I was hoping to chat before getting on with business with the Herald. How have you been dear boy? The vampirism must be difficult to deal with so far from home.”

“We both know that was a baseless accusation from you,” Baz snaps.

“In any case, we’ve come to offer our services. Leading the Inquisition must be no easy feat Herald,” their leader turns to Simon, “The Diviners know things. With our abilities and connection to the Fade, the future will be known to you, and we are happy to light the way for you.”

“What’s in it for you?” Simon asks, judging by how shiny these people were Simon expected they have plenty to play for.

“We only wish to put our gifts to use. If you are truly blessed by Merlin and Morgana, they must have sent you to us for a reason, and we want to help you reach your goals.”

“The Inquisition has no leader,” Simon resists the urge to look down and pick at his fingers, “We work together, I just happen to be the Herald.”

A pause. “That is troublesome. Then there’s a greater need for us to guide you, we can commune with spirits in the Fade, and in turn they can tell us how we can close the Breach for good. We may also learn how to use your Mark to its full potential – you are the most powerful mage Thedas has ever seen. Surely that warrants some…direction?”

“So that’s what this is about,” Baz chuckles, “Legitimacy, divine approval.”

“Whilst an affiliation will most certainly be of value, that is not our reason for reaching out,” he rebuked. Baz doesn’t respond, instead side-eyeing Simon.

“But how can we know if you’re actually communication with …spirits, the Fade and all that?” Simon queries, “It’s your word against…well, no ones, really.”

“One will come to end magick, and one will bring its fall,” he recites, “Have you ever considered them to be one and the same?” Simon’s eyes widen at the insinuation, and Baz’s hand curl into a fist. “It stands to reason that if you can close the Rifts, you can open them – we can tell you precisely when and how to do so, to avoid you heralding the end of magick.”

“I wouldn’t…I couldn’t,” Simon splutters, “I would never put anyone at risk.”

“Without direction, Herald, the Inquisition is just a Ferelden mob. Heathens with muddled magick and an even more tenuous connection to the Fade as it is. If you are truly without a leader, then you are not fit to lead, not when you can bring the end of magick as we know it.”

“You’re wrong,” clenching his fist on the table, Baz glowers at them, “The Inquisition is a beacon of order and hope, and Snow is the custodian of the Beacon. I will not let the Inquisition be used for your petty schemes.”

The Minotaur turns to Baz “Of all the students I’ve ever had, Basilton, you were always the most loyal to your family. So I am surprised to see you now defending these heathens. Is that what you are going to do with your mother’s legacy, now that you are _Lord_ Pitch.”

Simon’s takes Baz’s curled fist into his hand, ignoring the slight burn from the sparks of flame. _Does he think torching this entire building will fix the problem?_ “We don’t need your help, not when it comes with strings,” There’s no other way to put it, really – they were good, their little group. They don’t need these vultures clouding their judgment.

_Maybe I’m starting to believe I’m actually the Herald. Oh how far we’ve come_.

The Diviners take no time to gather themselves to leave, including the person they came all this way for. Neither Dev nor he said a word throughout the exchange, just watching Simon, Baz and the Minotaur get progressively angrier at each other. _Come on man, he’s going to leave if you don’t say anything_.

**BAZ**

_If he doesn’t say his piece, I swear on the Grimm name I will have him stricken from the Record._

**DEV**

“Niall,” Dev shouts as the Diviners trickle out the tavern. They all turn to look at him, but he doesn’t really care, his heart is beating too fast in his chest. He watches as Niall whisper something to the Minotaur and walks toward him.

“We’ll give you a moment,” Simon comes up behind him, giving his shoulder a squeeze before exiting. Baz follows, but not before staring down at Niall and whispering something to him. And with that, they were alone.

The silence stretches out, neither of them knowing what to say. He had five years to think of what to say, and now that Niall was standing in front of him, the words escape him. In the end, it’s Niall who speaks first.

“You’re still wearing it.”

“You are too.”

Dev swallows hard and makes his way to close the distance between them, until he’s close enough to see the hint of yellow in Niall’s green eyes. His hand shakes as he takes Niall’s, letting his calloused fingers graze over the many rings on Niall’s fingers. This moment was enough, he supposed, if he had turned around and left, it would be enough for Dev. All he wanted to do was to see him, and now that he has, he couldn’t hope for more.

“What have you gotten yourself into this time Dev?”

“I’m saving the world,” he jokes, “it’s more work than you think.”

A small smile forms on Niall’s pale face, “Trust you to walk right into it.”

“As if you’re any better – how’d you get mixed up with the Minotaur? Everyone knows he’s bad news.”

“After we got back home, we received a commission from them. They were after gem stones and after the contract in Orlais expired, we needed the business.”

“And you’re here as what, security? Hardly promising” Dev asked. Merlin, he’s missed teasing this boy, this man. Pressing his forehead to his, they’re both looking at their joined hands.

“They said they were coming to Ferelden to meet with the Inquisition. And your family aren’t exactly forthright with information,” Niall explains, taking Dev’s hand, rubbing circles over the callouses from the increased use of his broadsword, “I wanted to see you.”

There it was, he felt the same way, half a decade of yearning, of wishing, manifested into reality. “And now that you have?”

“I go home, and pray you come back as well. Safe.”

Dev had thought this would be enough, but standing here knowing Niall wanted him as much as Dev wanted him, he couldn’t let go. “You can’t go back, not now."

Dev lifts Niall’s chin, he needs Niall to see him, to look him in the eye, whatever his answer may be. “I didn’t ask then, I didn’t beg then, so I’m doing it now. Stay. Stay with me,” it was desperate, but he couldn’t care less, not when the future of them being together, finally, was within reach.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?” Dev could feel his heart breaking, but he has to get an answer.

“The Minotaur, he knows people. If I turn my back on him, on Tevinter, I don’t know if my family can survive that.”

“Leverage my name,” Dev says without hesitation.

“What?”

“I’ll write home and I’ll let them know about us. I’m the only other heir left, and if my father knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep the Diviners away from your family.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t watch you walk away again.”

Dev holds his breath. He’s putting his heart, his feelings, his entire family on the line – he doesn’t know what else he could give to the man in front of him. Niall looks like he’s struggling with something, but Dev can’t push him into staying. All he can do is lay his cards bare and hope they’re a good enough hand.

Niall just grabs him by the collar and kisses him.

And Dev smiles into kiss, and he had all the answers he needed.

* * *

**SIMON**

Simon and Baz trail behind Dev and Niall on the way back to Mummers. They walked out the tavern holding hands, happy as day, and Simon’s glad he made the right call. And after Niall retrieves his horse from the Diviner’s train, brushing off the Minotaur’s questions, they were off.

He couldn’t help but smile watching the two of them from behind, Dev’s gesticulating wildly as he catches Niall up on the Inquisitions various missions, and though Simon couldn’t quite hear, it seems Niall’s teasing him when things sound too fanciful. _If only Dev was making up half the shit he’s saying._

“Thank you, Snow,” his companion says to him. Simon’s confused, Baz was almost never pleasant to him, let alone grateful. “For Dev, for bringing him here. And sitting through the nonsense from the Diviners.”

“Um…no problem,” Simon mutters, “Just happy to help.”

“That’s going to get you into trouble one day, you know that right?” it wasn’t a snide comment, it sounded like genuine advice. _Who knew all it took to crack Baz’s shell was romance, well, someone else’s romance, but still_.

“That’s what this is for, right?” Simon waves with his right hand, the golden gleam seemingly staining his veins.

They ride in silence for a few more moments, “Hey Baz, can I ask you a question?” Baz cocks an eyebrow, “You said Dev was hurt, last time. What happened last time? Is this a … a problem in Tevinter?”

“Do _you_ have a problem with it Snow?” Baz says defensively, then again, it was his cousin Simon was asking after, but nonetheless, he was enjoying Baz’s softer side.

“You do realise I helped make it happen, right? Pretty self-defeating if I didn’t want it to happen,” pointing between Dev and Niall.

“Tevinter wasn't the problem, no. Niall’s family were. The O’Biernes are an old family that owns quarries and made up magickal master crafters. Jewellers. Gem stones. For a long time, their family dictated Tevinter fashion, but a series of bad decisions and some poor choice of allies…things weren’t looking great.

Simon squints at Niall, and notices his earrings, unlike Baz and Dev’s, were more ornate. _Guess it makes sense to treat yourself when you’re the one making them._

“Then one day they won the contract as jewellers to the Crown in Orlais, so they had no choice but to move there, not when they were on the last legs of their goodwill in Tevinter,” Baz continues, “So yes, putting Dev back together after that was painful to watch. But I’m glad he’s happy now.”

A loud laugh from Dev distracts them momentarily, and Simon can see the faintest of smiles on Baz’s face. _That might be the widest it gets, better commit to memory_.

“As for your insinuation, no, relationships like Dev and Niall’s aren’t a problem. Frowned upon? Definitely by some, but hardly a cause for concern.”

“I thought it’d be a bigger problem honestly, what with the obsession with bloodlines and whatnot,” Simon muses out loud.

“That’s why Tevenes have so many children, never too many as it dilutes the magick, but enough so that if anything deviates from the norm, there’s a spare. It usually just means that you forfeit the right to claim being the head of the family, succession and all,” it’s a wonder that Baz can offer that as an explanation so casually. _Guess it won’t be a problem with Dev. I mean, Basilton Grimm-Pitch is a mouthful, but definitely memorable_.

“So does that mean you’ll be the heir to both Houses then, Grimm and Pitch?” Simon asks.

“No, Dev will remain as the Grimm heir. We were both only children, so it’s not like our parents had a choice,” Baz says, “I guess I am the leader of the House of Pitch now, aren’t I?”

“That is entirely too messy. It’s a lifetime together, surely the people involved get a say.” Simon’s almost thankful of all the newfound expectations placed on him, a family name isn’t one of them. The Salisbury’s have enough heirs running about, there’s no need to consider an illegitimate child as anything more than that. “I’m just happy they found each other again, after all this time.”

“Never took you for a romantic Snow,” Baz jeers, “Didn’t think you had the emotional capacity beyond basic needs like eating and sleeping.”

“I’m having a good day, so I’m going to let that slide,” smiling at Baz, which might be more effective for winding him up, “It’s always nice to have someone, right? Especially with all that’s going on, being with the Inquisition.”

Baz frowns at him, unsure of what to make of Simon’s comment, “What do you mean?”

“Y’know, someone to fight for. You’re not just doing it for the world, but for someone. A single person you’ll want to hold onto until the bitter end,” Simon says while chuckling, giving his horse a tap, catching up with the two men in front.

“The bitter end, huh?” Baz mutters, before turning to look head on again, slowly following Dev and Niall in their bliss, and Simon in his golden glory.

* * *

**BAZ**

Snow’s words haunted him for days after, and Baz made an effort to avoid him whilst he sorts out his thoughts. _The bitter end_. It seems that Snow has accepted that there may be no happy ending for him, yet he carries on and does what he can. It has occurred to Baz that they may not make it out alive of this, but to see Snow just accept it as part of his destiny didn’t sit right with him.

Snow was a fierce fighter, and he made every blow count – his actions were not those from a man ready to die, so his resignation on their way back from Redcliffe came as a surprise. Perhaps seeing Dev and Niall together brought it on. They were two people finding each other despite life pointing them on different paths, and now they stand together, promising to weather any storm together. Maybe Snow’s thinking of sparing his lover the pain of having to deal with his passing when it comes to it. Baz knew if it were him, he wouldn’t want to be spared those feelings because he’d rather fight for a future where they both live. No matter his feelings, Snow’s obviously got his eyes set on Wellbelove.

Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine holding onto anyone but Snow if the bitter end comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Category is: DeNiall.
> 
> Not lying, it was at first difficult figuring out how to fit in DeNiall into the story. Given the length of my outline, I wanted to give our side characters some love. Once I figured out how to introduce him it kinda just happened.
> 
> But as it stands the Inquisition is kinda friendless right now. Oops.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter!!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated :)
> 
> Find me on Tumblr here: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	7. Siege of Mummers House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not leaving you here to fight an Archdemon by yourself, you’re not invincible!” Baz yells.
> 
> “I might as well be, I’m the Herald of Merlin and Morgana.”

**SIMON**

Something was up. Baz has been avoiding him for days, opting out of missions, being conveniently unreachable when Simon actually starts looking for him. As a result, Simon’s taken to following Baz around, he’s determined to find out why Baz was being so elusive. Somehow, Simon manages to lose his trail every time, and it’s no thanks to their new Requisitions Officer pestering him whenever she sees him. He needed to talk to Baz, not that he believed what the Mage’s Men had said, but the Diviners showing up didn't exactly earn Tevinter any favours. _If you’re about to sell us out, I’ll be sure to end you._

One night after dinner, he chases after Baz who’s taken to sitting with Dev and Niall over the last couple of nights. Unless Baz enjoyed being witness to Dev and Niall’s rekindling romance, he can’t imagine any reason other than plotting for Baz to join them. _Don’t think Dev would appreciate Baz’s relentless commentary on how horribly in love they are._

“Baz!” Simon shouts after him, but he just quickens his pace, “What have you been plotting?” _Baz likes direct. So, let’s be direct_.

That does stop him in his tracks, giving Simon the opportunity catch up to him. The fresh snow makes it just that much more work to get to Baz.

“Pardon?” obviously unhappy and uncomfortable. _Is it because I’ve read it all wrong, or you actually have something to hide_?

“You’ve been avoiding us.”

“I have not.”

“Hanging around your cousin and his lover doesn’t count. If anything, that makes even less sense. You detest affection.”

“Think you know me, Snow?”

“You cringe whenever I give Agatha a hug,” Simon deadpans.

“I’m just imagining the bruises. Affection is not measured by strength Snow. Maybe if someone showed you, you might realise there’s more to it than being squeezed by a bear,” Baz hissed.

“Is that why you’ve been disappearing? Learning all about affection?” Simon blurts out, feeling his cheeks heat up, realising the meaning behind his words.

“What is this about Snow? Unlike you, some of us actually have to work to do beside kill things,” he snaps, clearly done with this conversation.

“What are you plotting? Because I can’t think of any reason why you’re suddenly so cagey about…well, everything.”

“Just because you soldiers have no sense of privacy and personal space, doesn't mean the rest of us don’t. It’s freezing out here and – ” he pauses, squinting at Simon, “Is this because of what the bigger Bunce said?”

“No. Yes, I don’t know,” Simon manages to get out, “It’s just, the timing of the Diviners and your sudden lack of … well, being around, just doesn’t seems like a coincidence.”

Baz looks hurt, and Simon can already feel the shame bubbling from the pit of his stomach, “You think that if I was plotting, you’d still be standing Snow? One stray spell and you’ll be nothing but ash,” Baz spits out, “Maybe I should have just let those numpties take me, you might realise how many demons I keep off your back, Chosen One.”

Simon recalls the many times he’s seen demons make his way over to him whilst closing a Rift only to go up in flames or be frozen into place. But he knew that Baz needed him alive – they all did, if they needed to close the Breach. Then again, Baz actually has very little input as to where they go, just how to get there and what to do to make the fight easier.

“Look Baz, I – ” Simon starts to say, but the words die on his tongue. The air had become smoky; he can feel the heat leaving from his hand and arm, his connection to the Fade draining from him. Baz’s eyes widen in shock, and he’s struggling to stay standing. Whatever this was, it was sucking the magick out of the air, draining them dry. And just as sudden as it appeared, it was gone. Before they could react, somewhere far too close for comfort, an infernal roar echoes through Mummers.

Without so much as saying a word, they sprint towards to the entrance of the village, Simon has his sword drawn and Baz readies his staff. Penny, Dev, Niall and the Inquisition troops that were on duty joined them shortly after. What they saw waiting for them outside the gates of Mummers was a dragon, but this one looked ill, nothing like how the legends describe these majestic beasts. Its black scales were covered with an unhealthy green sheen, its ragged leather wings a sallow colour, and it looked emaciated. Rather than one of nature’s strongest predators, it looked like a harbinger of decay and death.

They brace themselves as it roars again, it’s a piercing cry, summoning a host of demons to spring up from the ground.

“Inquisition. Charge!” Simon growls before leading the group into the hoard of demons. He hopes that whatever happened earlier hasn’t weakened his friends too much, what with all of them relying heavily on their magick.

Either they all know what is at stake and were pushing themselves to draw on every drop of magick they have, or only Baz and Simon felt the drain from earlier, but it was carnage. As talented as they were at killing demons, they were overwhelmed by the number of them, especially for casters like Penny and Niall who were more focused on keeping the others adequately protected and shielded, but still had to fend for themselves.

Simon’s well aware of where this situation may lead, and he was wary of holding the line, not letting any of the demons break through into Mummers. That said, even if he can hold off the demons, there’s no saying when the dragon would decide that its had its fun just watching and just vaporise them.

“Penny,” he shouts over the clashing swords, “Get out of here, we need to get everyone from Mummers out of here. Take some of the troops and get them out of here.”

“What about you lot?” her voice tired from the upkeep of protection spells she’s been casting on Simon, who has been taking the brunt of the demon hoard.

“We’ll hold them here for as long as we can, just go!” he commands. Penny looks at him strangely, giving him a curt nod and runs back into Mummers, grabbing several soldiers along the way and spelling an alarm to sound off throughout the streets.

**PENNY**

An Archdemon on their doorstep – whoever caused the Breach must be real pissed off at Simon and the Inquisition to resurrect one of these to deal with them. She’s no coward, she’s faced off her fair share of creatures from the Fade, but seeing the Archdemon made her heart drop and her instinct was to just run, but she knew she had to stay and fight, or at least protect their only hope to end this whole mess.

Simon may have been getting stronger and having better control, but this was beyond what any of them could have imagined attacking them. She was ready to argue with them out there, she couldn’t abandon them, but the way Simon made a decisive call, commanding her with confidence and authority, she listened. _He’s ready_.

With the alarms blaring, she instructs the small group of troops that came with her to take villagers to Mummers Hall, and marches to the cabin she shared with Agatha

“We’re leaving. Pack whatever you can, but we have to get out of here,” Penny starts rummaging through her own belongings, grabbing at papers, books and a small change of clothes.

“What’s going on?” Agatha asks whilst getting together her own possessions.

“We’re under attack, that…draining feeling we felt was no accident. They’re fighting off an Archdemon right now, so we can’t leave through the front gates,” Penny explains.

“What’s the plan then?” Agatha asks, apparently all packed and ready.

“We’ll take them through to back of Mummers House, into the woods and hide in the Frostback,” controlling the shake in her voice, she has to focus on the plan, otherwise she’ll let her fears get better of her.

Penny does a once over her pack then pulls a wrapped object under the bed. “There, let’s go.”

Agatha’s eyes the object suspiciously but asks no further questions and leaves their cabin with Penny following closely behind.

With Agatha at the front, they start leading the people of Mummers into the mountains, making sure their Requisition Officer distribute tents to each household. Penny turns her gaze to the front gates and sends a prayer up to Morgana hoping they’ll make it.

* * *

**SIMON**

The hoard was thinning, but it was an uphill battle. Simon quickly checks on Mummers and sees the lights of Mummers House lit up, and what seems like an orderly queue of villagers slowly filing through its doors. He wasn’t sure where Penny was leading them, but he hopes it’s out of the village because he doubts there’d be anything left once the dragon starts making a move.

“Niall,” Simon calls, knowing he’s taken on Penny’s share of casting barrier, meaning he’s casting for at least three of them, leaving Dev having to defend them both, “Go help Penny and Agatha, they’ll need your help protecting the villagers.” Niall looks at him and his eyes dart quickly toward Dev. Sparing him the pain of asking, Simon just orders, “Both of you go, they’ll need muscle as well as magicks. Take the men, I’ll send Baz after shortly.”

Dev begins to protest, but Baz just shakes his head and he runs back into the village with the troops still standing, his hand holding onto Niall’s. Leaving a few demons and the dragon for Baz and Simon.

Baz doesn’t hesitate and starts a volley of fireballs at the dragon as Simon starts cutting down the skeletons and dragonlings. Whatever Baz was doing certainly got the dragon’s attention, it was now snarling at him and Baz’s face darkens because his fireballs weren’t hurting the dragon as much as it should.

Baz suddenly stops hurling fireballs, instead he starts muttering something, his staff pointing at the dragon. It sounds like a nursery rhyme, and the dragon seems to calm down. Whatever Baz was saying, it certainly was doing more than his fireballs were, but it definitely was taxing. Even Simon could hear he’s struggling to get his words out, taking in deep breaths like he was coming up for air.

Simon moves closer to Baz, covering him while he continued to calm the dragon. Baz’s words were slurring now, and his arm was shaking from the weight of his staff. Simon doubted he had enough left in him to keep the dragon calm before Simon can finish off the last couple of demons. Switching over his sword to his left hand, he places his right hand around Baz’s and opens up the Mark.

**BAZ**

It was a wonderful feeling, like standing under the sun – it was warm, bright and infinite. Baz didn’t have time process what Snow was doing, but whatever it was, it gave him access to the Fade like he does, and it was so strong that Baz could be drunk off it. It powered him, energised him.

“Whatever you need, take it,” Snow says with his body angled away from Baz, swinging his sword widely to keep the demons from getting close. Baz conjures a wall of fire around them, far enough to keep them from burning up but bright enough to keep the demons from getting to them quickly. Usually he’d worry about keeping the flames up whilst casting another spell, but with Snow here, he felt invincible.

Nursery rhymes in Tevinter were always used to chase away nightmares, usually caused by an invasion of the dream by nightmare demons. Baz was at his wit’s end – if fireballs can’t hurt this thing, this Archdemon, then maybe something else might. Whilst it only soothe the Archdemon earlier, Baz had to be conservative with his magick, just in case Snow couldn’t dispatch the remaining demons on his on, or if there was another fight coming up. Now, he didn’t need to be.

Baz draws from Snow greedily and pours his heart and soul into his words, his staff glimmering like Snow’s does. He can feel Simon’s body turn toward him now, his hand still firmly on Baz’s. The Archdemon throws its head back and spreads its wings, but Baz doesn’t relent, reciting the words his mother sang to him as a child with earnest conviction, enunciating each word with purpose. And soon the Archdemon lifts off and takes off to the skies, its flapping wings lifting up the powdered snow that wasn’t trampled on by the earlier battle.

Snow’s hand slowly drops from Baz’s and the wall of fire immediately falls, as does Baz, propped up by his staff. Snow makes quick work of the remaining demons, and helps Baz up. They don’t speak as they slowly limp back into the village, following the path to Mummers Hall. Baz’s mind is reeling from what just happened, not only was Snow walking around with the entirety of the Fade’s power resting on his palm, but he was able to share it. His thoughts about the implication of this were interrupted when the Archdemon’s piercing cry rings out again. Their heads snap towards the village gate, and it was back, except this time it had no intention of stopping at the front gate.

Snow pushes him away and simply orders, “Leave.”

“I’m not leaving you here to fight an Archdemon by yourself, you’re not invincible!” Baz yells.

“I might as well be, I’m the Herald of Merlin and Morgana.”

“And I’m the strongest mage Tevinter has seen in centuries, I am more that capable of holding my own,” Baz almost pleas.

“What you are right now is spent, you’ll only slow me down. I promise I’ll find you, so, do me a favour and go, ” and with that Snow runs off to face the Archdemon.

Baz watches in horror as Snow brandishes his sword and start slashing at the Archdemon, but with each strike, Snow would turn back to look at him before going in for another blow. _I’ll hold you to your word Snow. You better make it back_.

It was only until Baz had reached the edge of the wood, out of Mummers House that it hits him.

_He held on to me._

* * *

**SIMON**

If there ever were a moment Simon put his faith into the Prophecy, into his divine appointment, into his calling as the Herald of Merlin and Morgana, it would be now. He’s counting on his Golden Destiny to somehow help him through this fight, not that he knows how, but it hoped the answer would reveal itself soon.

His sword was doing nothing more than superficial cuts to the dragon – the Archdemon – but that’s all he can really do. He knew it was after him, and if he wanted to keep Baz safe, he had to leave him. He watched the limping silhouette disappear into Mummers House, and is slightly relieved that at least everyone got out.

The Archdemon was back with a vengeance; it had torched half of the village and was clawing and snapping at Simon. His adrenaline was keeping him alert, but his swing was becoming weaker and weaker, the earlier fight had drained him more than he’d like to admit. However, his magick was fine, despite letting Baz have access to it to drive away the beast.

The more he wished he could use it, the hotter he grew, the smell of smoke enveloping him, he could feel his Mark sparking, and the thrumming warmth in his course through his body. It was becoming overwhelming, and he had no control over it. So he throws away his sword, closes his eyes and puts his right arm forward letting the Mark consume him.

And he goes off.

* * *

He’s not sure how long it’s been since he went off, but the Archdemon was nowhere to be seen, and Mummers was decimated, including Mummers House.

It was tempting to stay here, lying in the snow and letting his exhaustion take over but he doesn’t. _I promised_. He rolls over, gasping at the sharp pain that shoots through him as he pushes himself up from the floor. Slowly he makes his way towards the pile of stone that made up Mummers House. He picks up a faint scent of sage, just like how Penny’s magick smells. Realising it must be Penny’s means of leaving a trail Simon starts hobbling into the mountain range.

The hike up the mountain becomes increasingly difficult as the snow falls harder and the winds pick up. His vision is getting worse, his feet were feeling heavier with each step and the sage is becoming fainter as he moved higher. Simon knew he needed to keep pushing ahead, but he wasn’t sure where he’s meant to be heading towards – he was chasing an unknown goal, wading into the mountains with no plan.

“ _Simon_ ”

It was like his name was being carried in the wind, a voice coarse from shouting, frantically searching for him. He follows the voice, renewed in his resolve to get back to his friends, to find them.

“Simon!”

He sees a figure emerge in the distance, trudging through the snow, his form lit up by a small flame. Simon could just about making up his hair blowing in the wind, a sense of comfort washing over him. _I guess I did find you_.

The last thing he sees is Baz running toward him.

* * *

“It felt like an insidious humdrum, a mundanity that creeps into your soul.”

“We know, Niall, we all felt it.”

“I’m just saying if whoever this being is could do that, why did it not stay? It’s not like we would’ve lasted long if we couldn’t draw on the Fade.”

“This is pointless speculation. Right now we need to figure out where to go – we can’t camp forever.”

“And who put you in charge Wellbelove?”

“I didn’t say I was Baz, I’m just saying we need consensus!”

“This is getting us no where.”

“We’re agreed on that much.”

Simon wakes to yelling, and if keeps his eyes closed maybe he can drift back to sleep and let them hash it out.

“You’re not pretending to sleep are you?” Penny says.

“I’m going to assume they’ve been at it for hours. What’s a few mor minutes?” he mumbles into his pillow.

“And they could do that because you bought us time, valuable time.”

“Great way to spend it,” Simon says, propping himself up by his elbows.

“Last time we saw you, you were facing off an Archdemon alone,” Penny says.

“But I wasn’t, Baz was with me.”

“Not in the end, though,” her hands in her lap, “We were preparing for the worst, then Baz shows up, asking us to shower him with whatever protection spells we could and he doubled back. Good thing too since he’s the one that carried you back.”

He looks out from their tent at his friends, all jittery from their discussion, refusing to look at each other, and huddled around the main camp fire.

“Simon, I thought you were going to die. I was so scared,” she says softly, “They’re fighting not because they want to, but because they saw their leader stand…and fall. Only for him to return to us.”

“I’m not a leader Pen, you know that,” he whispers.

“But you are Simon. You may not have started out that way, but you have been leading all of us,” Penny says looking out at the camp they have set up. Families and farmhands that followed them into the mountains – they were following him.

“Why though, I’m just the guy with a funny hand.”

Penny smiles at him, and he’s glad – at least her humour isn’t lost despite all of this, “The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear. And the more our trials seem to be ordained,” she explains, “Our enemy, whoever it was, has now manifested into an Archdemon, and you vanquished it.”

Penny presents a wrapped object to Simon, “I see you came back empty handed.” Carefully taking it off her hands, he peels unties the strings and unwraps the pieces of cloth, and reveals a brilliant sword. It was a finely crafted blade with a golden handle, a small sunburst medallion smelted onto the hilt. “It’s a gift, from the Salisbury’s.”

Simon’s eyes widen, his immediate thoughts were to drop the sword and ask Penny to send it back. He didn’t need their charity then, and he certainly didn’t want it now.

“It’s an heirloom. It was addressed to the Inquisitor,” she says, placing a hand tenderly on his knee, “an army needs more than an enemy, it needs a cause, it needs _hope_. And whether or not you believe you are the Chosen One, the people have chosen you.” With that she leaves him with this thoughts, and joins the group by the fire, no doubt already settling on a plan.

Simon looks down at the sword, running is fingers over the sunburst medallion. This blade meant more than just acceptance by his lineage, it was acceptance of responsibility for the lives of those in the Inquisition, the lives of the hundred Mummers villagers that were now without a home. It was accepting his divine appointment.

Fastening the sword to his belt, he steps out of the tent and joins Penny and the others. As he approaches, they all turn to look at him

“Inquisitor?” Simon resists shrugging, but gives Penny a curt nod. To his surprise, she, Agatha, Dev, Niall and Baz all bow to him, and soon the villagers that were huddled around smaller fires outside their tents follow suit.

“So what’s the plan?”

Penny smiles at him, “There’s an abandoned keep just over this mountain pass – Watford Keep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They grow up so fast, don't they? He's finally the Inquisitor!
> 
> I have to confess that I know I'm not the best at writing action, especially when it comes to swords. I play a wizard for D&D and I always go for mage builds. (My own Inquisitor was a human mage haha) So I'm more comfortable describing what the magical characters do. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed reading my attempt at attack and desperation.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated :)
> 
> Find me on Tumblr here: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	8. It's Your Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You want me to be the Inquisition’s diplomatic representative in liaising with … everyone?”
> 
> “Yeah. You have a mind for all of this, more than anyone else we have here. But you absolutely can say no, it’s your call.”

**AGATHA**

All things considered, it has been quiet month or so since the attack on Mummers. They’ve not been able to find out much about the attack, just that all the mages felt the same suffocating feeling, their magick draining from them. If the Insidious Humdrum (Niall had coined the term, and it’s stuck as a name) could summon an Archdemon, then they needed to be prepared if it were to strike again.

Trouble was brewing all over Thedas, there’s been news of the Mage’s Men raiding large prominent families and seizing all kinds of materials, all regarding the Fade. The Diviners have also started a recruiting campaign, preying on the fears of Normals and weaker mages alike to join them. However, Simon takes it all in stride, occasionally clashing with the two groups whilst he’s out closing Rifts. Agatha was happy he accepted the role as Inquisitor, he was able to come to the realisation himself without pressure from everyone. Penny giving him the sword may have been symbolic, but it was a formality by then.

Agatha had suggested that they spread the news of Simon and Baz working together to buy time for their escape from Mummers, and how Simon took on the Archdemon and won. Back in Orlais, all feats and triumphs were shared to bolster prestige and garner respect – it would be wasteful to downplay Simon’s work. And it worked, many of those displaced by the Mage’s Men and the Diviners came to Watford Keep seeking shelter and solace from the Herald. Even the prominent families of Ferelden and Tevinter started volunteering resources and funding to the Inquisition.

A couple days later, Simon had cornered her one evening, buzzing with excitement.

“Hey Agatha, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think you should join us on missions anymore.” Agatha was confused, she knew she wasn’t the most talented mage, but it did sting a bit that Simon thought she was evidently better out of the way than there at all.

Simon rushes to correct himself, “It’s not that I don’t think you’re a good mage, not at all. You’re at least definitely better than me.”

“Simon, you’ve not cast a single spell since you blew up the teapot in your room,” she teases.

“I told you that in confidence Agatha. But that’s not the point. My point is, I think you’re better here,” smiling as if he had just solved some great mystery. Agatha waits for him to continue, “I know you don’t like fighting, especially when it’s not just demons that we have to kil– deal with people. So I think I’ve found something else you can do, away from battles.” 

“And that is?” Agatha asked. Admittedly she was intrigued, but also terrified. The last time she had a conversation about being of better use, her family tried to convince her marry – the suitor had the most ridiculous belt buckle, it was practically a cod piece.

“Ambassador to the Inquisition!” he says excitedly, smiling broadly at her.

Agatha’s relieved she’s not being married off, but she’s nonetheless confused, “Ambassador?”

“Yeah, I was thinking since you’re used to all that diplomacy crap, you’d be a great face for the Inquisition. You’ve already been handling the majority of the correspondence anyway, and I know you’re more than capable of playing these games with the families, Lords, Duchesses and merchants. So what do you say?”

“You want me to be the Inquisition’s diplomatic representative in liaising with … everyone?”

“Yeah. You have a mind for all of this, more than anyone else we have here. But you absolutely can say no, it’s your call.”

“My call?” Agatha asks.

“I don’t want to saddle you with something you don’t _actually_ want to do. I can just see you’re not exactly happy here, as far as missions are concerned anyway. I just thought it was a good idea…”

She ran away from Orlais to take back control over her life, and just drifted. She wasn’t meant to be there at the Temple of Sacred Ashes but Penny had invited her along, to show her more of Ferelden. And from there on, she just fell into various situations. Now, Simon was giving her an opportunity to make something of herself, to make a difference in the world. 

“I’m sure Baz will have comments, but he has comments on everything. I’d trust your people skills over his. He’s insufferable at the best of times. Just the other day he was calling my taste austere? Can you believe him? Just because I don’t want the Inquisition to look like a circus,” he huffs.

“My dear Inquisitor, I’ll be honoured,” she pulls him into a tight hug. “And I’ll have a word with Baz, though I do have to say your taste leaves a lot to be desired.”

“You would take his side wouldn’t you,” rolling his eyes fondly.

* * *

Agatha loved her office, it was a warm room littered with candles and mismatched rugs, plenty of chairs to meet emissaries and convoys. It was situated right outside the War Room where they would meet, marking off Rifts they have closed and adding any new ones that are reported. The main point was that no one gets to the Inquisitor without first passing through Agatha. _Ambassador Wellbelove, it has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?_

She had placed her connections to use right away. Even so far as to contact her father in Orlais for any news. As physician to the Crown, Agatha was interested in finding more about the new Empress Philippa. The Staintons had a relatively bloodless succession this time, given that Philippa was the only child of the late Emperor and old enough to negate the need for a Regent.

After four pages from her father expressing his disappointment in her running away, and pride in finding an important role with the Inquisition, he told her that calm veneer of Orlais hid turbulent waters. Several nobles took issue with Empress Philippa’s ascension to the Crown, including her own cousin, Gregory Stainton, because of her inability to speak, collateral damage caused by an attempt on the late Emperor’s life. Her father tended to her then, but knows that she will never recover her voice.

She needed to find a way to help secure the Empress’s seat on the Crystal Throne, so she sends Penny and Baz on a fact-finding mission. She knew if she riled the two of them up enough, they’d compete to get back to her first. She thought Baz would inch out a win given his connections to Tevinter, but evidently his on-going feud with Simon about Watford Keep’s décor was still going strong. And so, with him distracted, Penny was the one to give her an answer.

She presented the Empress a solution, in exchange for formal recognition of the Inquisition’s cause and the Crown’s endorsement. This should ruffle enough feathers in the Coven, and if she knew the likes of Martin and Mitali Bunce well, she was sure she can swing their support as well. If not, she’ll just apply pressure to the Salisbury’s – threatening disassociation by Simon to get them to campaign for the Inquisition. She did run the latter with Simon who just shrugged and said “Surprised they’ll remember my name.” _That’s another topic for another day_.

A soft knock comes from the door and a head of curls pops in through the door, “Am I interrupting anything?” Penny asks, holding up a box. Agatha shakes her head and beckons her in, warming up her tea with a spell.

“I take it the mission went well?” Agatha says, “The tea is brewing.”

“It did. Why couldn’t they have hidden it at the Emerald Graves though, the Western Approach is an experience,” Penny says as she settles herself onto one of the chaises.

“As if they would hide a magickal item in a meadow,” Agatha says pouring Penny a cup of tea, “Did you try if it worked?”

Penny nods and sips on her tea, “We did and it does work. It does feel bizarre.”

Penny had found in an ancient tome in the Watford library about an old magickal item, a crown that allowed the wearer to communicate telepathically. If the problem Empress Philippa had was that she couldn’t get her words out, then Agatha figured this was as close a solution to that problem she could offer. One that she eagerly accepted, and a favour that Agatha was more than happy for the Inquisition to fulfil. A young ruler like her made investments like this worth it, she will owe much of her early reign to the Inquisition. Agatha’s glad she didn't send Simon and everyone on a wild goose chase.

“I’ll get this sent to Orlais today. We will need a better box for this, we can’t let them think the Inquisition are a band of heathens,” she says examining the box before opening it. Inside was a messily wrapped crown – more accurately a golden diadem, with a single white diamond set in the middle. She had no doubt that the Empress will be adorning it with other jewels once she gets her hand on it. Opulence and Orlais went hand in hand after all.

“You’re enjoying yourself aren’t you?” Penny asks, smiling warmly at Agatha.

“You know what Penny? I am.”

“I’m glad you found your element Aggie.”

“Me too. Who knew I ran all the way to this forsaken mountain to do exactly what everyone does back home,” she laughs.

“But you chose this right?” Penny asks, knowing full well that that single fact made all the difference for Agatha.

“Yes. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Agatha returns to her desk, leaving Penny to lounge around – she enjoyed the company and Penny looked like she could take a break from the various scrolls and books she’s been reading on the Fade and the Veil.

“Oh, I forgot to mention, we’ve been invited to a ball by the Empress,” Agatha says excitedly, Penny looks less than impressed, “It’ll be at the Winter Palace at Val Royeaux, to celebrate the end of the winter, so it won’t be for a couple more weeks. But it’ll be the perfect time to show the world we’ve gained the trust of the Orlesian Crown.”

“Do I have to wear a dress? The dress isn’t the problem mind you – it’s the sourcing of a dress. Or anything that isn’t comfortable for the library or convenient to run around Ferelden in,” Penny says.

“As long as it’s stylish, extravagant and entirely impractical, then it’ll be fine. And trust me, once I get word out, there’ll be tailors clamouring to dress us.”

After that the two slip into idle conversation, Agatha tells Penny about a new healer that’s arrived at Watford, a girl named Trixie, who despite her claims to being part pixie, does possess an uncanny ability to treat any wound and mend bones alarmingly quickly. Penny groans and comments on how much pixie dust there’ll be on the stretchers. She then asks Penny more about their expedition to the Western Approach, grateful for the fact that while they were under the scorching sun, she was here in her office. Penny informs her that Simon went off again when they were swarmed by a gang of Diviners who had upgraded their arsenal with weaponised quillbacks. She was quick to reassure Agatha that Simon didn’t collapse, but was definitely a bit shaken, given how close everyone was to him in the moment. Penny theorised that Simon can somehow protect those who were in range of him if he chose to do so. He didn’t seem excited to experiment.

Then suddenly the man himself bursts into the room, “Have either of you seen Baz?”

“Not since I left you all at the gate to freshen up,” Penny says.

Agatha shakes her head, “He’s not been through here either. What’s the matter?”

“Someone gave me a letter. It’s from Baz’s father,” he says anxiously.

“Have you checked the library? He usually sits in the nook by the window, can be easy to miss,” Penny suggests.

“Shit, I’ve not looked there. Thanks!” Simon shouts as he’s halfway through the door.

The two women look each other and start grinning.

“Do you think they know?”

“Oh absolutely not.”

“You should have heard them at the Western Approach. Constantly at each other’s throats. And if they weren’t _flirting_ , then Simon would talk my ear off about Baz.”

“I know what you mean. Even Niall came in to ask me about those two. I don’t get it. Baz just needs to let Simon _inquisit_ him already, and release us from this.”

“Aggie that’s both genius and gross.”

“What can I say, Orlesians don’t play around. Or they play around too much,” and the two burst out laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this little detour to Agatha. Our Golden Girl deserves to be seen!
> 
> And I wasn't lying - I did fanart (or I guess art) for this fic! Granted, I know the anatomy is a bit off, and the hands leave much to be desired (I could've hidden them, but Simon's hand is kinda a big deal throughout all this!)
> 
> You guys can check it on Tumblr: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com or just roll back to Chapter 1, and it's right up top :)
> 
> Get ready for some Snowbaz in the next chapter...


	9. Truce? Truce.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m thankful…you’re on our side. My side,” Snow says lying down on the grass, “Even if this goes to shit, I won’t let the world forget that a Pitch stood by my side.”
> 
> “That is if I don’t kill you first, right?” his lips threatening to curve into a smile.

**BAZ**

Baz’s idea of unwinding from a mission was to retreat to the library and read whatever is available in the _library_. (It’s not a library, it’s a series of bookcases built into the wall of the Keep. Penny and him both have ideas to improve it, but both keep being overruled). He was quite enjoying his afternoon reading through the _Malifica Imperio_ , trite propaganda on the history of Tevinter. If these were the books that Ferelden grew up with, no wonder everyone treated him, Dev and Niall with such apprehension. Now, that the good people of Watford Keep have come to know them, they only avoid him.

His well-earned break was interrupted by a set of pounding footsteps running up the rotunda. Baz was hoping for some quiet time away from Snow. It was becoming tiresome keeping up with the insults and barbs. Baz has watched him lead the Inquisition with such ferocity and self-sacrificing goodness. Snow, unlike his name, was warm, bright and golden, and so good. With the scorching heat of the Western Approach, his smile was like the sun, his moles and freckles the constellation of planets that orbit around him. Baz was fighting against his gravity, but the pull was becoming stronger and he’s losing the willpower to stop it.

But Merlin, is he going to try.

“You lost Snow?” Baz says, closing his book, “If you’re looking for our spymaster, Niall’s one floor up. Don’t you think that’s a bit typical though, making the only other Tevene look deal with espionage?”

“Um. Well. He did volunteer…” Snow says defensively, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m here for you.” He’s avoiding eye contact, which is strange given how much he enjoys glaring at Baz while they’re at Watford.

Baz, masked with indifference, just looks at him, eyebrow raised.

“I have a letter addressed to you from your father.” All pretence falls from Baz’s face and he springs from his lumpy armchair, holding out his hand expectedly. Simon complies and offers up the letter with no comment.

He reads over the letter, twice, pacing around the little nook in the library. The letter is largely concerned with Baz’s folly with the Inquisition, demanding his immediate return to Tevinter and a request to meet. The last one was unexpected. Malcolm Grimm was not an accommodating man, so it must mean something for him to come all the way to Ferelden. He’s also surprised by the fact that Snow had stuck around.

“Well?” Snow asks, a bit too urgently, really.

“I don’t see how my private correspondence with my father is any of your business.”

“Well judging by how thin your lips got when reading the damn thing, either he’s threatened you or the Inquisition. I have a vested interest in both those things,” Snow says. _Why was he staring at my lips, and what interest does he have with me of all people_.

“If you must know, he’s asking to meet me. And before you even start, no, it’s not some Tevinter plot to do a blood curse on Watford Keep or whatever it is you people read about us,” Baz says tossing the _Malifica Imperio_ at Snow, “He’s asking me to return home.”

Snow catches the book and just shoves it back onto a random shelf, “Are you leaving?” Baz swears he’s imagining the hint of fear in Simon’s voice. _Then again, I’m the most powerful mage in the inner circle, he might just be afraid of losing his best offense team_.

“No I’m not, and I have half a mind to tell him where to shove his concerns,” Baz says.

“Not a good relationship, huh?”

“I just don’t think he appreciates why I need to do this, to stay here,” Baz says, looking out the small paned window, the sharp curve of the Frostback Mountain below him.

“Have you actually told him why,” Snow says and Baz shoots him a look, “Hey, you’re not exactly an open book, with your brooding and all. Or do all you Grimms and Pitches communicate with just eyebrows.” He then proceeds to imitate Baz raising his eyebrow, except both go up. If Snow weren’t mocking him, Baz would tell him he looked endearing.

“I suppose you have a point,” Baz begrudgingly admits.

“Not just a hat rack,” Snow says pointing at head with a grin and Baz laughs, against his better judgment. And though Baz was predictable, Snow was not, “So when we heading off?” 

“We?”

“Well, if you end up being kidnapped back to Tevinter, I figured you’d want back up. All you mages are glass canons anyway. I won’t even need my sword.”

“I was distracted by your lack of curtains in your chambers. I don’t know how Wellbelove tolerates it, a full face of sun first thing in the morning. Also, you didn’t _actually_ land your punch.”

“So you pushing me down the stairs had nothing to do with it.”

“You slipped.”

“Don’t lie, you were pissed I socked you by accident. Don’t say I didn’t get you good because I saw you sneaking off to Trixie later that night to fix your bloody nose.” 

“Well maybe you didn’t flail around like a child and some spatial awareness, maybe there won’t be so much collateral damage,” Baz says tilting his head slight, letting the window highlight his impeccable profile (it took so much pixie dust and elfroot balms to soften that dip in his nose courtesy of Snow.)

This was easy, so easy. Friends that banter with each other and occasionally provide emotional support. Though being in love with Snow meant Baz’s happiness would forever be tied to him (not entirely, but it would make up an insensible amount), who is he to deny platonic, harmless friendship with the Inquisitor.

“So, when are we heading off? Also, where? That’s important to know too.”

“He’s currently staying at Redcliffe, in the same tavern as the Diviners visited. He said he’ll be there all week. Let’s just this over with tomorrow.”

“Do you Tevenes only know one tavern in Thedas or something?”

“Do you People only own one book on Tevinter history?”

* * *

Last time he travelled to Redcliffe, it was his cousin’s happiness on the line. Now, going back to same stupid tavern, his future was on the line. He didn’t want to think that this was the first time he’s actually seen his father since his mother died at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

“You ready?” Simon asks, tying his horse up. Baz just gives him a nod, not quite trusting the words that might come out.

Baz knows it’s only been a couple of weeks since they’ve been to Redcliffe, but they’ve been through so much, it’s strange to see the tavern hasn’t changed. It’s still as plain as before, as if the happenings of the world couldn’t touch this place.

“Basilton,” a familiar voice calls out. Malcolm Grimm was an imposing man, pale, tall and all angles, much like Baz was. It would seem all he inherited from his mother was her skin and hair – his father’s hair had gone white before he turned eighteen. When he was younger, he wished he had his mother’s hairline – it was softer and gentler. The combination of his father’s bone structure and his mother’s hair made him a stern looking child, but Baz liked to think he’s grown into it.

“Father,” he says bluntly. He can feel Snow’s awkwardness next to him, but he wanted him there. Not because he thinks his father organised an actual kidnapping but Snow’s presence comforted him.

“We’ve missed you. Your Aunt Fiona threatened to come along, but I thought I’d spare you her dramatics,” his father says.

“I would’ve thought you wanting me to come back would’ve given you and Fiona a common cause, for once.”

“Basilton, come home. This has gone on long enough.”

“I can’t. Don’t you want to know what killed her? Or are you happy to just let her be forgotten, another casualty in this stupid war. It’s barely a war, since no one’s actually sent an army after each other,” Baz sneers.

“Of course I want her murderer apprehended. But I also want her at peace. She won’t be, so long as you are running about with your band of merry men.” He sounds tired, exhausted. Baz knows he’s not the only one hurting from his mother’s death, but where Malcolm Grimm would sit back and plot his way to answers, Baz was going to do something about it.

“I’ll be damned if a Pitch stood by whilst the world goes up in flames and her killer on the loose!” he shouts.

“The world can burn for all I care,” his father shouts back, “I can’t let you run off and die chasing after something you don’t even know you can deal with.”

Snow places a hand on his back, the heat of his Mark warming his robes. _Tell him why_. “I have to do this, Father, I can’t sit at home and wait for news to come back, I have this see this through myself,” Baz insists.

“Look, son, if it’s because of…” looking at Snow, evidently his small gesture of support didn’t go unnoticed. Snow flusters and his hand drops from Baz’s back, and Baz’s temper boils.

“This has nothing to do with him,” Baz says, stepping in front of Simon, protecting him from his father’s words and glare, “Leave him out of this.” _Snow can’t know, even suspect, anything I feel for him_.

“There are plenty of other men in Tevinter, one’s that won’t ask you to run to your death.” Baz reels from his father’s response. He must be desperate if he’s willing to overlook a considerable issue in their relationship that was his preference for the company of men. His mother had taken issue as well, but she had started accepting the fact, which was the main issue given he was the carrying the Pitch name, rather than the Grimm name. _Guess I’ll never know now_.

“Sorry to disappoint you once again Father, but I won’t be leaving.”

“You’re all I have left of her,” his father says, slumping into his chair, “I have to keep you safe.”

Baz is stunned into silence, his father was not the type to show vulnerability, let alone in front of someone that wasn’t family. He struggles to find the words to convince his father of his actions, but also reassure him that he’ll be safe.

“I’ll keep him safe,” Snow suddenly says, “I swear on the honour of the Inquisition, I will bring him back to you.”

His father looked surprised, but Baz didn’t. Snow was a man who cared too deeply for all his friends, and despite Baz’s efforts to keep him at arm’s length, it seemed that through their mutual antagonism, they’ve built something together.

* * *

His father takes his leave later that evening, pulling in Baz for a hug, something he’s not done since Baz was a child and worried about wraiths under his bed. He also gives Snow firm handshake, letting him know he will hold Snow responsible if anything were to happen to Baz.

“I’ll send word ahead to Tevinter. Your aunt won’t like it, so brace yourselves.” his father had said before riding off in his carriage.

Snow pulls their horses aside on their way back to Watford Keep, and Baz eyes him suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

He started unloading the satchels on his horse, revealing two small tents and camping supplies, “I figured you might want to stay out here, get some fresh air, stay away from it all for a bit before going back.”

Baz had a long list of reasons why they should forget this and head straight back. There was work to do, the Inquisition needed its leader, and Baz had promised Penny to start looking into the Prophecy in more depth. He could’ve forced Snow to get back on his horse and ride for Watford, but he doesn’t. Instead he silently helps Snow set up the tents and build a campfire – he insisted on using tinder but Baz just ignored him.

They sit in comfortable silence, sharing the scones Snow had packed. Baz wasn’t going to point out that scones did not make up a meal. It’s been a very long day and it’s left him feeling exposed and vulnerable – it’s jarring.

“I’m thankful…you’re on our side. My side,” Snow says lying down on the grass, “Even if this goes to shit, I won’t let the world forget that a Pitch stood by my side.”

“That is if I don’t kill you first, right?” his lips threatening to curve into a smile.

“Right,” a grin on his face.

“Y’know, we never talked about it.”

“What?”

“What we did, back at Mummers,” Snow lifting his right arm to study his palm, “You have a big brain, what do you make of it.”

“I was in a fugue state for most of that fight. In case you forgot, we had an Archdemon breathing down our necks,” Baz says, stealing a glance at Snow while he’s distracted by his own divinity.

“Let’s try again,” extending his hand to Baz, “C’mon, it’ll be a fun experiment. There’s no one around, so even if it goes wrong, we can just write it off as a bear attack or something.”

Baz rolls his eyes and takes Snow’s hand. It takes a couple of seconds, but he feels that sensation again, an all-encompassing warmth, powering him up from the inside, and scent that was so distinctly _Snow_ lingers in his mouth.

“So…cast something,” he urges.

“What do you want to see Snow?”

He lifts his finger up into the sky, pointing to the stars.

Baz racks his brain for a spell that could bring the stars to them, and nothing but an old saying comes to mind, “ **You need a certain darkness to see the stars**.”

Suddenly, the grass around them melts away, and Baz feels as if he’s being pulled into the Heavens. He watches as stars shoot past him, until they come to a stop, and they just…float. The stars were so close to them he could almost just reach out and pick one out from the night. It was beautiful and enormous and breath-taking. He turns to Snow, his face lit up in awe and wonder. When he turns to look at Baz, there was so much amazement and joy on his face it was overwhelming.

Despite his best efforts to stay out of Snow’s gravity, it seems he was pulled in long ago, and now he was on a path directly toward him, and it will end in flames. Just as Baz feels his resolve fade he clears his throat, “Snow, I think we should stop.” He looks disappointed, but doesn’t say anything.

And just like that, they were back in their field outside Redcliffe. Their hands still clasped together, looking at each other.

“Baz, we’ll find them, whoever it is. I’ll help you,” Snow tells him, looking at him dead in the eye.

It takes twenty-five years of schooled expressions and controlled voices that stops Baz from sounding like the fool that is the voice in his head, “So a truce then?”

“I suppose, yeah.”

And Baz squeezes his hand, letting the smile spread across his face, “Truce.”

* * *

**SIMON**

_Baz has a beautiful smile. A really beautiful smile_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday everyone! 
> 
> This fic has 100 hits! I know it may seem small compared to the Greats but it means a lot to me. Thanks for all of those that have been reading this!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed my take on the DAI equivalent of this meeting with Malcolm, and of course, the famous star scene. 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	10. Emprise du Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is it?”
> 
> “It’s red lyrium.”

**SIMON**

The general consensus among them is that somehow the Humdrum was causing the Rifts. Only something with immense power could resurrect an Archdemon, and whatever they was using to store that magick it stole, it ran out. This may be why all the mages felt their magick being drained from them that night at Mummers – the Humdrum was there. And from that day on, the Inquisition started receiving reports every so often about new Rifts appearing – it was a means of sustenance for the Humdrum.

With not much else to go on, Simon thought it was good as theory. Whether the Humdrum existed or not, the Rifts were real, the Breach was real. So Simon does he does best – he compartmentalises and puts the Humdrum firmly into the back of his mind. If anything, for someone (or something) that’s out to end the world, there seems to be no logic, pattern or reason to their actions. There’s not been another Archdemon attack, which Penny believes it’s because the Humdrum lacked the power to summon another one, but even the reports of new Rifts have slowed down.

This is what lead them to Emprise du Lion – several Rifts had opened over the last week or so for the first time in Orlais. Whilst it felt fairly routine to them all now, speaking with the locals revealed something much darker. After they saved a particularly brave (or as Baz said, “Stupid”) villager attempting to fight the demons on his own, he lead them back to his home, telling them he had important information to share with the Inquisition.

The man introduced himself as Shepard, a Normal who knew an alarming lot about magick and the Fade. When Penny pressed him for his sources, he just palmed her off citing confidentiality. What Simon found refreshing about Shepard was how he treated him like a Normal, as if he wasn’t the Inquisitor. He knew Agatha would have a field day if she knew there was one average man out there who didn't revere the Inquisitor, but he loved Shepard for it. It’s been a long time since anyone, outside of his Inner Circle, that spoke to him so casually.

“So what’s the deal with this place? Abandoned? Migration?” Simon asked. The small settlement Shepard was living in seemed much emptier than the layout of the homesteads suggested. It wasn’t unheard of for some people to move around Thedas to follow the warmth, but for places like Emprise du Lion, it was infamously frosty, so those who settle here must know what they’ve signed up for.

“This is what I wanted to talk to you Si,” Shepard had said, grabbing onto a roll of bandages, replacing those he has wrapped around his hand, “Not sure if the fancy ones with you could take it though.” Baz sneers, Dev just glares at him and Niall folds his arms – all three challenging Shepard to continue on.

“They’re always like that,” Simon chuckles, “What’s so bad about people moving out? Is it the Rifts? Are there more?”

“Interesting company you keep Si,” Shepard looks wearily at the three Tevenes, “But no, it’s not the Rifts. Problems started here a long time ago. People have been disappearing, well not disappearing, but they’ll got called to the old quarry and no one ever really hears from them again.”

This gets everyone’s attention, all leaning in a bit closer. Even the three Tevenes shift slightly.

“Who’s calling them?”

“These guys called the Mage’s Men, they always come with a silly amount of gold, asking for volunteers to go do some quick ‘mining work’. It’s suspicious,” Shepard explains with air quotes.

Penny’s face tightens, the Mage’s Men have been causing trouble, but it was mostly unjustified raids of mages’ homes, clashes with some overzealous recruits who have it out for the Inquisition. Otherwise, they’ve been more of a pain than an actual threat.

“So amateur miners go missing, unfortunate sure, but hardly unexpected. If I remember correctly, this mine in Emprise du Lion has been abandoned for decades, no?” Niall chimes in. Though Simon suspects he may be trying to provide a plausible explanation about the disappearances that doesn’t implicate the Mage’s Men, for Penny’s sake.

“You’re right, I don't even know if there’s anything left to mine there to be honest. But it sure isn’t being used right now, as a quarry anyway,” Shepard gets up dig under his mattress and retrieves a box, “I found this one of the bodies.” In the box, a beautiful red crystalline stone, brilliant and clear. As Simon turns to his magickal friends to see what they make of it, he sees it. They were all staring at the box with wide eyes, colour draining from Penny’s face, and he can see Niall’s fingers digging into his arm.

“Close the fucking box,” Dev bites out, and Shepard does as he is told. Simon wasn’t sure what it was, it didn’t bear the draining, emptying feeling of the Humdrum (which he’s happy to rule out), but clearly it was a distressing discovery seeing as they all looked pain.

“What is it?”

“It’s red lyrium,” Penny says shakily.

“Like the stuff that Trixie feeds you all when you’re all exhausted from casting?”

“No this is different Simon, what Trixie gives us is blue lyrium which is safe to consume and use for restorative purposes,” Penny continues, “This stuff isn’t.”

“It’s an extremely potent version of the same thing, it grants a temporary boost to anyone’s magickal abilities, even if they’re Normals. It’s also highly addictive,” Niall explains, “It’s production and sale has been banned throughout Thedas.”

“It sings to you, drawing you in. And once its effects wear off, you’re severed from the Fade, or that link we have goes back to normal, and it can be devastating,” Dev elaborates.

“So you’re suggesting that, somehow, the Mage’s Men are breaking international treaties and laws to farm this stuff somewhere in the mines?” Simon asks Shepard.

“It’s not organic – ” Penny starts.

“It’s synthesised,” Shepard starts, stopping when he hears Penny’s voice, inviting her to continue.

“Shepard’s right, it’s synthesised. Though how,” she looks to Shepard, “I can’t say I know.”

“All I know is that people have been disappearing, and when I tailed one of the workers, I found him collapsed on the floor, dead, with this in his hand,” he says.

“Could you take us to the quarry? If this stuff is as dangerous as you all make it out to be, we need to shut it down,” Simon says, pointedly not looking at Penny for permission.

“Oh Si, I was hoping you’d ask,” Shepard says with a grin.

* * *

With Shepard leading the way, they make their way to the old quarry. The snow on the ground isn’t too thick, but it does make the trek a bit harder. Penny has hurried off upfront to be with Shepard, most likely because she wants to learn more about the Mage’s Men and their activities here, and also to be the one first one to see whatever it is they are doing. Dev and Niall seem to be getting along just fine in front of Simon, occasionally stumbling into each other, all smiles.

Simon turns around to see Baz struggling with the snow and got his foot was stuck in a deceptively deep pile of snow. Simon jogs over to him and starts digging his foot out, “You alright?”

“I’ll be fine Snow, worry about yourself,” Baz says, digging the last bits of snow with his staff. Simon throws up his hands, grinning at Baz and continues on forward.

“Hey, with all this red lyrium stuff, are you going to be able to handle it?” Simon says, waiting for a response, “I said I’d protect you and all, but I do need to know what I’m protecting you against mate.” Still nothing from Baz, “Are you just not going to dignify me with a response?”

Simon turns around quickly and almost collides into Baz.

“Merlin, Snow, give a man a warning!” Baz says, his face showing the faintest shade of pink.

Simon looks behind Baz and sees only one set of footprints – his own. He smiles, realising that Baz had been following him in his footsteps, literally.

“I’ll give you a shout next time yeah?” Simon says brightly. Baz just gives him a nod.

And so they continue ahead at the back of the group, Simon taking his time, making an effort to stamp out a solid footprint for Baz to follow in. He’d occasionally offer a hand out behind him, and each time Baz just slaps it away, and he’s giddy each time he does.

* * *

The easiness from their trek earlier has been replaced with disbelief and abject horror. The closer they get to the quarry, the more uncomfortable all his companions get, shaking their heads to clear their minds, blocking out their ears, gripping onto their weapons until their knuckles turn white. Shepard being unaffected by the lure of the lyrium takes point, whilst Simon continues guarding the group from behind.

There was a sense of dread deep inside Simon, worried about what they’ll find at the end of their road.

**PENNY**

Penny saw it first, a jagged red crystalline growth coming from the rock face. She swallows hard and moves in closer, knowing full well that that the red lyrium couldn’t be a natural growth. Within that lump of red lyrium was a person with sunken eyes and jaw slack – they were dead. Red lyrium was growing from their limbs and their face. Penny has a chilling thought as to where red lyrium got its colour from.

Her hands fly to her mouth, she’s not sure if it was to suppress a scream or to stop herself from throwing up. The Mage’s Men were taking villagers and harvesting red lyrium from them, probably after being saturated enough with the substance itself. Her mind spins at the thought that her own brother would be involved in this depraved enterprise.

Penny tries to rationalise her thoughts – she’s not actually seen Premal (or any of the Mage’s Men) on their way here, so this may be just another branch of the group, removed from the ones that raided homes. She usually dislikes dealing with the Mage’s Men, especially when they all seem to know who _she_ is, but what she would give now for a group of them to spring on her and call her brother a coward for not being involved.

“I guess this is why they don’t come back,” Simon says quietly, looking at the corpse.

“These fuckers are sick, aren’t they?” Shepard comments, “If you look ahead, the way to the quarry is littered with these guys.”

“I think we’ve seen enough,” Simon says, looking to Penny. Everyone here, with the exception of Shepard, knows of her brother’s involvement in all this. At least Penny knew where she stood with her brother – she couldn’t kill him even if was responsible for all this, her friends may have other ideas.

In the end it was Dev that spoke up, “Let’s head back, if the pull of the red lyrium is this strong, even at the mouth of the quarry, we’ll need to have our wits about and full strength.” Penny knew it was a lie. Red lyrium would have the same effect on all of them, rested or not.

“You guys sure? Don’t you want to scope out the place first before planning?” Shepard asks.

“I agree with Dev. You and I don't know how badly this all affects them. We shouldn’t push ahead if they’re not ready,” Simon replies. Baz seems to catch on to what Simon’s trying to do, and only starts making a move once Simon heads on, following his footsteps. Penny let’s out a hollow laugh but doesn’t comment, she has enough on her mind.

She’s grateful for Dev and Niall distracting Shepard with promises to answer his questions about Tevinter, and the history of their use of blood magick. _He’s going to be sorely disappointed when he finds out they’re mostly lies. Mostly._

Premal had said to her he merely wishes that she didn’t join the wrong side in all of this. Penny cannot fathom how, in what universe, does all _this_ constitute being on the right side. Even if he were not responsible or involved, this would implicate all of the Mage’s Men. She didn’t want to think what this would mean for her family, how her parents would react, and how everyone on the Coven would take this to information. Her thoughts are jumbled and messy all the way back to the settlement.

* * *

When they get back, Baz offers to take first watch and Penny volunteers to take second. She sends Simon a look of gratitude when he pulls Shepard back, trying to giving her some space. He just smiles at her, but it wasn’t the one he usually has, it looked sadder, not quite reaching his eyes. _Pity. It’s pity_.

That night she struggles to fall asleep, knowing they’ll probably need their full strength tomorrow, regardless of the red lyrium. Figuring she’s not going to get much sleep anyway, she climbs out of her tent to relieve Baz from his watch.

Call it sleep deprivation, call it her being silly, but her first instinct was to go check on Simon’s tent. After the initial disappointment dissipated, she started getting worried. Baz wasn’t the type to just up and leave whilst on watch, not even to take a leak she had learned one time. As she makes her way back to the extinguished campfire, she feels her feet kick something – it was Baz’s staff. He never left anywhere without it, especially when they were outside of Watford. She immediately reignites the campfire and spells a ball of light with her ring, scanning the area for a set of footprints that stuck out, a necklace, any clue. If it weren’t for the purple glow from her ring, she might’ve missed it – a small pearl earring set in gold, and a short trail of blood. _They must’ve ripped it out._

Penny runs back to Simon’s tent, telling him to wake up. Granted, she could’ve been kinder and not flash her ring directly into his face, but she figured he’d appreciate the wake up call once he figures out what’s going on.

“Simon wake up, this is serious, it’s Baz,” Penny says.

“Wha – what’s happening? Penny what?” Simon grumbles as he forces himself to sit up.

“Baz is missing,” Penny states. _That should wake him up_.

And boy does he. He runs out of his tent with one boot in his hand, armour plate barely tied in place. The commotion wakes Dev and Niall, even Shepard comes out from his little house. Everyone was half dressed with sleep in their eyes, all but Simon. His blue eyes were darting everywhere, as if Baz was going to pop out from behind the trees.

“Where is he? What happened to him? How do you know he’s missing?” Simon fires question after question, Penny doesn’t know what to answer first, especially when most of here answers were “I don’t know.”

The rest quickly get ready while Penny ignores Simon’s panicked fidgeting and tries to figure out the most efficient way to find Baz. Shepard joins them again, his gear apparently consisting off bandaged fists and an old red military jacket. He almost looks underdressed compared to Dev and Niall’s battle mage armours.

“I found this on the floor and a short trail of blood, and his staff,” Penny hands over the earring and points in the direction of the trail.

“Is there some tracking spell you can use?” Simon looks to them desperately, cradling Baz’s earring in his hand. All three mages shake their heads, any spells they may have known were for tracking objects familiar to them, not people.

Shepard wanders off and knocks on his neighbour’s door, “Sometimes the simplest solution might be the best solution.” Shockingly, the door does open and in the doorway stands an old man.

“Hi Shep, surprised you’re awake.”

“Hey old man, sorry to bother you, but yeah, we’re in the middle of a situation,” Shepard says, “You wouldn’t to know what happened to guy sitting by the fire earlier tonight? Pretty, angry, hair half tied up? Ridiculously expensive robes?” _That’s one way of describing Baz._

“Uh, no. I didn’t see the Pitch boy,” he says quickly, scratching at the door handle.

“Huh, I never said he was a Pitch.”

“Well, he looked like one of them. Evil and all that,” he huffs.

Shepard mumbles something that Penny couldn’t quite catch, but the old man looks to Simon and swallows hard. Whatever it was, she’s sure Simon’s murderous rage was convincing enough to get him to talk.

“All I know is that a bunch of those men, the ones in green came and then he just slumped over,” he says, “If it’s where everyone’s been going, he’s a lost cause Shep.”

“Where did they take him,” Simon demands pushing Shepard out the way, his fist gather the old man’s shirt.

“Si…Si, calm down. If it’s the Mage’s Men, then they probably took him to the quarry to…” Shepard stops mid-sentence, figuring it best not to agitate Simon any further right now, “Well we don’t know what they want, but he’s probably there.”

Simon drops the old man, panting, his expression hardened. There was no question what he was about to do. Dev and Niall look about ready to join in with Simon’s anger.

“I’m sorry Penny,” he says, “if they have Baz, I – ” Simon says roughly.

Penny throws her head back, willing any other possibility to manifest itself right now by sheer force of her will, but she knew it was wishful thinking. Letting out a deep sigh she just says, “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! Things were just getting good between them I know, but nothing comes easy for our lovely boys right?
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and are having a lovely weekend!
> 
> Comments are kudos are appreciated :)
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	11. Call of the Red Lyrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon will find me. He will. He promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Violence, blood.

**BAZ**

To be completely honest, Baz wasn’t sure how they got the drop on him. It was embarrassing they managed to do so as well. Then again, he knew he shouldn’t be too hard on himself – these men knew what they were doing and had the element of surprise. Gagging him and kicking his staff away to stop him from casting or making any noise.

His initial reaction was anger, vowing to kill them all when gets out of here, _if_ he gets out of here. But lying in this stone coffin, this sarcophagus, he can feel the fear creep in. He had no idea what time it was, or how long he’s been held captive. His ear is throbbing from the pain of his earring being ripped out. He was desperate, and he counted on Bunce’s intellect and talent to piece the clues together.

What he does know is that these were the Mage’s Men, and their leader was none other than the older Bunce. He was certain of this when they briefly opened the sarcophagus, and Premal dropped a water skin inside before closing it again. Baz was grateful at first, but when he finally managed to open it, a good amount of it spilt onto him and his heart sank. The water skin wasn’t filled with water or wine or anything, but distilled red lyrium. He throws the waterskin down the length of the sarcophagus, trying to get as far from it as possible, but it was no use, he can feel the liquid soaking his robes.

The red lyrium was calling to him, taunting him, tempting him. Baz rolls to his side, trying to pull his legs into himself, hands in his hair, trying to maintain his grip on reality. He closes his eyes and thinks of Snow, to drown out the pulsing in his veins to reach for the water skin. He recounts the insults they traded, them sailing through the skies together, how he looked up at Baz when he was digging his foot out of the snow.

_Simon will find me. He will. He promised._

Baz starts counting the moles and freckles on Simon’s face, mapping each one from his memory.

* * *

**SIMON**

He’ll paint the entirety of Emprise du Lion red if it meant finding Baz. The sun was starting to break through the horizon, but Simon was already dripping in sweat. He was on a warpath, cutting down all manner of beasts and bandits that crossed them. Nothing was going to stop him from getting to the quarry, to Baz.

His blade was dripping with blood, staining the white snow that covered the path into the quarry. Dev was right behind him, broadsword out and equally enraged. Shepard wasn’t lying before when he said the stone face was littered with corpses encased in red lyrium crystal, it was grim and the crisp cold air did nothing to dull its allure.

Standing at the centre of the quarry, in front of a stone sarcophagus was Penny’s brother, surrounded by other men dressed in various shades of green. It takes every bit of self-control for Simon not to charge ahead and carve his way through them. He didn’t know if Baz was here, but it’s the only hope he had.

“Prem,” Penny calls from behind, “What is this? What in Morgana’s name are you doing?”

“What we’re doing here, Pen, is equalising magic. Take from what mages already have, distribute it to everyone, and when the time comes, they’ll come back and give back to the world.”

“Have you fucking lost it Premal?” Penny shouted. The Mage’s Men were closing in on them, Simon raises his sword, and his companions do the same. It was a tense stand-off, and Simon only needed to know one thing. He had no intention on letting Premal ramble and delay his rescue.

“Where is he?” Simon says. He needs to know, if Baz lives.

“He’s giving back,” Premal says, gently tapping the sarcophagus, “What better source for red lyrium than a bloodline as refined and pure as that of a Grimm-Pitch? One of the oldest families of Tevinter, all distilled into one single heir.”

With that, Simon sees red and gives in to his sheer rage, growling as he runs ahead. He can barely register Penny’s pleas for Premal to stop, the rest of his companions joining the fray. He couldn’t count on Penny to cast her usual storm of protection spells but he didn’t care – getting to that sarcophagus was the only thing that mattered.

It was a bloodbath. The Mage’s Men pile onto him and Premal was vicious with his spells, a mixture of lightning and frost spells fly toward him, with no regard to whether or not it hit Simon or one of his men.

Simon blocks as many spells as he could, though Premal does land a few shots, but he powers through the searing pain that is being struck by lightning and continues fighting. He twists his blade and lunges at the men in front of him, nicking one and skewering the other, before swinging around and slashing another’s throat. With every two steps he took closer to Premal, he was forced to take one step back, because another one of the Mage’s Men would have thrown themselves in front of him, all willing to die for their leader.

Amongst the chaos, Simon could see Dev was wielding his broadsword with similar fury, occasionally whipping out his wand to defend against a weak fire spell sent from one of the Mage’s Men. What Dev lacked in speed, he compensated with range and weight, each swipe of his broadword forces its targets back, clutching at their midsections or whatever limbs that were caught by the blade.

He also notices that while Niall usually spends his time on missions guarding over Dev, today he was different. For any other fight, he would be quietly powering Dev’s armour, warding off any opportunistic enemies that want to take advantage of Dev’s slower reaction speed. Today, he was entirely on the offense, conjuring a series of phantom blades that he masterfully guided from a distance, picking off other mages that were standing back and casting.

Shepard was the interesting one, no one expected him to bring just his fists and kicks to a magickal sword fight, but he was an unpredictable addition to their team. He was so very fast, a flurry of blows to one’s face, and then a roundhouse kick to another. It was messy, uncoordinated but it all fell into a smooth transition. Shepard was an improviser, reading the situation and making use of his environment to end a fight quickly – his knuckles couldn't outlast the sharpness of a blade, so each fight needed to be quick. He’s also started grabbing at whatever he could to use as improvised weapons or projectiles to throw at the men running up to him, with surprising accuracy.

**PENNY**

Penny was completely left alone. None of the Mage’s Men were coming near her, probably because despite everything, Premal didn’t want to hurt her. And she didn’t want to hurt him.

She had never seen Simon go into a fight with such single-mindedness. It’s easy to forget that the happy, easy, eager Simon was a trained soldier. Then again, appearances could be deceiving. The same brother that she grew up with running around the house and gardens, reading her grown up books because their mother put it on the top shelf and she couldn’t reach, was harvesting illegal red lyrium from vulnerable mages and Normals.

“Sir, we’re getting fucking murdered here,” Penny hears one man shout to Premal. She watches his expression stiffen, all the warmth and love she knew he was capable was gone.

“Release the giant,” he orders, and he continues his attacks on Simon and she can feel herself making a decision.

A few moments pass and suddenly the ground shakes, and it shakes again. Emerging from one of the tunnels was a giant, tusks protruding from their mouth, their body infected with red lyrium. And they start swiping mindlessly, having no care if the ones sent flying were members of the Inquisition or not.

Penny looks down at her ring, and wipes her nose with the back of her sleeve and steels her resolve. She won’t attack Premal, but she won’t let him kill her friends.

**SIMON**

_Are you fucking kidding me, a giant beefed up on red lyrium?_

Simon dives out of the way just in time as the giant’s foot makes contact with the ground, flattening the poor sod that was in their way. He had heard another man shout to Premal about being overwhelmed, so he optimistically thought the end was near. He didn’t think they had a giant tucked in the back somewhere.

He was thinking about how best to proceed when he feels a familiar taste of sage in his mouth, and he sees a faint sheen of purple envelope him. Turning around, he sees Penny, her ring lit up by a beautiful magenta glow. Simon had hoped she could stay out of it, and he wouldn’t blame her, but he wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t grateful – not when the tide of the battle changed so quickly.

They had only fought one giant before, at the Emerald Graves, but that one wasn’t unfairly empowered by red lyrium. Nonetheless, he runs in between the giant’s legs, making messy cuts, before ducking out as they hop on one foot, clutching the injured one. Simon takes the opportunity to take out the remaining Mage’s Men before having to play cat and mouse again with the giant.

Once they had settled, it moves on ahead, lifting up a boulder and hurls it towards Niall. Both Simon and Dev run to try and get Niall out the way, but both knew they won’t make it in time.

“Niall!” Dev shouts as the boulder shatters into small fragments and they see Penny on the side, out of breath but relieved. Shepard had run to Niall and managed to pull him out of the way, avoiding most of the fallout. It was then that Simon understood – she wouldn’t make a move on her brother, but she wasn’t going to stand by and watch them get hurt.

Simon was frustrated – he didn't want to be wasting any more time than he already has. If what Premal said was true, then Baz was probably being driven mad by the call of the red lyrium in that sarcophagus. He looks at his friends, they were fighting their hardest, but he can see that the combination of waking up before daybreak, the stench of red lyrium in the air and the waves of Mage’s Men were taking a toll on them. Even Premal looked exhausted.

He looks at his Mark. He hated going off, and though he no longer faints from it, he wouldn’t call the experience pleasant. He hadn’t thought of doing it, but the giant changed the dynamics of the battle and he needed it over sooner rather than later. Closing his eyes, he lets the energy constantly itching to get out take over him. He thinks of his friends, hoping to protect them from getting hurt, he thinks of Baz and wanting to see him.

And it happens. A blinding white light erupts from his person, vaporising all of the Mage’s Men and throwing the giant against the stone face, its heading hitting the floor at an awkward angle, even his friends are knocked back a bit, but remain standing, largely shielded by Simon’s thoughts alone.

When he opens his eyes, he’s surprised to see Premal alive, obviously hurt, clutching his ribs, but alive nonetheless. It seems his desire to not hurt Penny stopped him from hurting Premal too much. But, that was his subconscious speaking – he had different ideas. He marches over to him, deflecting the weak beams of lightning and fire Premal was shooting at him.

_I’ll fucking kill you_.

Penny gets to him before Simon does, but that doesn’t stop him from holding his sword to his throat.

“You’re still breathing because of Penny.”

**PENNY**

She drops to her knees and grabs onto Premal’s hand.

“Prem, stop,” she begs, “It’s over.”

“No it’s not, it isn’t over yet,” Premal says glaring at Simon, “We were supposed to tear down the Veil and return magick to this world. He said it was the only way.”

“Who?” Penny asks, gripping onto Premal’s hand.

“The Mage.”

“Come back with us Prem, we can speak with the Coven and you can make right all of this. Please.”

“I’m too far gone now Pen. I’m sorry,” he says softly before kicking her out the way. He raises his hand up, and casts an immolation spell but the flames do not come. He looks at his hand, then stares at Penny with a look of betrayal, and she opens her hand, cradling an amethyst ring similar to her own.

“I’m sorry,” Penny sobs.

“I guess this is part where you kill me for a ‘Vint, huh?” he sounds defeated, but there’s a lightness to his voice that almost sounds like laughter.

“No,” her voice shaking , “you will live out the rest of your days repenting for this nightmare you have wrought to these innocent people. You will live to see the anger on Mother’s face, the disappointment on Father’s. Dying is for cowards”.

“You will regret this Pen, your Chosen One wasn’t meant to be Chosen. He – ” and Shepard’s knuckles slam Premal’s head into the side of the sarcophagus and he slumps.

“Don’t worry Penny, I just knocked him out. Thought we’ve heard enough," he says, dragging Premal out the way and tying him up. 

Simon drops down next to her, pulling her into a hug. She was so overwhelmed with emotions, moving between betrayal to hurt to confusion to everything in between. She knew Simon was ready to kill Premal, but held back, letting Penny have hope that he could change. And she still does. Pulling back from the hug she just nods at Simon. _I will be fine, just not right now_. She gets up slowly, her legs wobbling a bit and makes her way to her brother’s unconscious body.

**SIMON**

Simon watches Penny go, not knowing what to say to let her know how sorry he was for the turn of events. He couldn’t dwell on it though, because there was a slightly more pressing matter at hand.

He pushes back the lid of the sarcophagus, not knowing what was waiting for him. _I just need him to be alive_. And he was, but there was so much red covering his robes that Simon initially thought he was bleeding out, only to remember the red lyrium. All colour had drained from his face, he was practically grey and he was still mumbling something when Simon pushed the lid back.

He gently carries Baz out of the sarcophagus and sets him on the floor, resting his back against it. Simon was checking for wounds, but Baz just grabs his wrist and giving it a squeeze so gently Simon almost doesn’t register it. A beat passes and Simon just pulls him into an embrace with shaking arms, and Baz burrows his head into Simon’s shoulder and lets out a soft sob.

“I promised to keep you safe, I’m so sorry,” Simon whispers.

Baz just shakes his head, his breathing still haggard.

“Let’s go home Simon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably one of two scenes where the slightly more than canonical violence tag will come into play. 
> 
> This is my first attempt to write human vs. human combat so...please excuse any physically impossible moves. Physics took the weekend off. I also refused to believe that Penny would just cry and do nothing, she's made of tougher stuff!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it! 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	12. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world may need the Inquisitor, but right now Simon needs to be Simon.

**SIMON**

Dev and Niall wasted no time incinerating the red lyrium operation, as if to cleanse Thedas of this dark chapter. Simon doesn’t leave Baz’s side the entire time, only separating when they arrived back at Watford. Shepard had to drag him away in order to give Trixie space to actually start healing Baz.

“It’s not easy to have someone watching you like a hawk, especially when things may have to turn ugly before they get better,” Shepard told him, “Plus I think the other scary one will be waiting. I’m sure they’ll send word.”

Simon does offer to keep Penny company, but she gives him a weak smile, telling him she just wants some time alone. Shepard puts a hand on his back and offers to keep an eye out on her, “Worst-case scenario, I’ll annoy her. Best-case scenario, she’ll get to talk to someone that _isn’t_ the bloody Inquisitor. We all get to stop being whatever we are out there, but you, well, your job never ends.”

_I’ll never just be Simon Snow again, will I?_

So, he tends to official business. He catches Agatha up on the mess at Emprise du Lion, and she quickly notifies the Coven of the actions of the Mage’s Men. She makes a point to place responsibility for the arrest of the Mage’s Men on their shoulders, offering the Inquisition’s support only if truly they need it. Simon had objected, worried about what turning over jurisdiction and thus, custody, would mean for Premal. Thankfully, Agatha had already thought of that– as Inquisitor, he could apply pressure. “You can make of that what you will Simon. Even if you don’t have much to say, people will listen.”

Simon dusts himself off to leave her office and head into the War Room, but he hears Agatha clear her throat. “I’ve taken the liberty to cancel all your engagements this week.”

“But what about the remaining Rifts, and the remaining Mage’s Men on the run?” Simon asks. _The world won’t stop spinning just because I really I want it to_.

“We have troops, alliances, resources to deal with that. If it’s general peace-keeping, I’m sure I can sort something out,” Agatha says, “Go to him. You know you want to.”

“Thank you Agatha,” and he bolts through the door.

**AGATHA**

_The world may need the Inquisitor, but right now Simon needs to be Simon_.

* * *

**SIMON**

Once Baz was out of the infirmary, Simon stays by his side, brushing off any offers by his friends to swap out. So they just take turns joining him, first Dev who seemed to think that if they made fun Baz enough he’ll just spring up to chew them out. Simon laughs along and joins in, because talking about Baz being alive and prickly was better than thinking about how frail he looked right now. The colour had come back to his skin, all traces of the unnatural and ghostly pallor gone. He looked at peace, his black hair splayed around him on his pillow, softening Baz’s features, lips slightly parted – a vision of serenity. It still didn’t stop the gnawing at the back of Simon’s mind. _What if he doesn’t wake up_.

* * *

Niall had joined him next, which makes Simon realise how little time he’s actually spent with him. If Baz was aware, he’d remind Simon how unwise it was just allow anyone to join the Inner Circle, regardless of who’s bed they kept warm. But Baz wasn’t here to question his judgment, and even if he did, Simon had actually made the right call. They mostly talk about Tevinter, how Niall’s magickal protection worked differently to Penny’s. Her approach was to soften blows, whereas Niall would weave a crystalline web using his magick to make the target impenetrable. When he asks why, Niall just points out how different Dev and Simon fight – Simon can block most of his attacker’s hits by simply being faster, Dev doesn’t have that luxury. When Niall makes his exit to head to dinner, he promises to share stories of Baz and Dev’s childhood.

That night was the first night the servants start sending up food to Baz’s room for Simon, apparently he had forgotten to eat the night before. It was also the first night Baz tossed and turned in his bed, plagued by nightmares. Simon reaches over and holds onto his hand, opening up his Mark and starts mumbling what he remembers of the nursery rhyme Baz recited at Mummers. Simon has no clue if what he’s doing helps, but Baz does sleep peacefully for the rest of the night. Although he finds himself in the morning leaning forward, face first on the bed, his neck and back aching, the small smile on Baz’s face as he sleeps makes it all worth it.

* * *

Shepard drops by later that day informing him that Penny was doing fine, given the circumstances, having taken interest in Premal’s words about Simon not being the Chosen One, and their goal to tear down the Veil. Simon points out to him that it’s best to let Penny work through her thoughts and just wait, to which Shepard says Penny’s already told him all about Simon’s hovering after their first encounter with Premal. Simon pouts, refusing to believe even Shepard took better social cues than he did. _The guy has nose of a bloodhound, chasing question after question until you want to throttle him. How did he hold back?_

Simon also finds out Shepard’s a bit of a nomad after he left The Monastery, settling in places when he feels like it, leaving when he felt like there were more interesting pastures elsewhere. _So that explains the jack-of-all-trades, master of none fighting style. Then again, a punch is a punch, be it an uppercut or a right hook._ In light of this, Simon formally invites Shepard to join the Inquisition, to which he responds, “You’d be crazy to think there’s anything more interesting than the Inquisition right now.”

* * *

When Agatha comes to find Simon, she looks apologetic, a stack of papers in her hand. “I know I told you to forget about all this for a bit, and I’ve done what I could but I do need a decision.” Simon starts getting up but Agatha waves at him, telling him to sit back down, “The issue with the Mage’s Men has been a diplomatic and jurisdictional nightmare. Premal is from Ferelden, but the crimes were committed in Orlais to mainly Orlesians, and he was apprehended by the Inquisition, and Tevinter just waded in because it was Baz Pitch that was kidnapped.”

“I thought were keeping word about Baz quiet until he makes a recovery,” Simon says. _Oh he’s going to be so pissed when he finds out._

“Information on the Inquisition goes for a lot these days, and the way you carried Baz back wasn’t exactly…subtle,” Agatha explains, “But I do have good news?”

“Did the Humdrum decide to go on vacation?”

“Yes, I heard he’s gone fishing,” she jokes, “While you were _unavailable_ , I’ve liaised with Orlais and convinced them to defer to our decision regarding Premal and the Mage’s Men.”

Simon was confused. Agatha was aware of his concerns with handing over jurisdiction to the Coven precisely because of Premal. Penny had wanted him to live, but Simon has no idea how Orlais will co-sign a sentence that didn’t involve all kinds of gruesome punishment. “Agatha, they’re going to hate what I have to say, what we’re going to do.”

“When you were going to save Baz, did you go quietly or did you charge in with everything you had?” she asks, “Or did the approach no matter as long as Baz was saved?” _Oh_.

“You want me to frame Premal’s survival as beneficial to Orlais,” Simon says.

“ _I_ don’t want anything from you that you’re uncomfortable with,” Agatha says, “but indeed, given the current state of things, it doesn’t matter how Premal survives, as long as he does. It won’t be easy – no one wants to go easy on him.”

“So I apply pressure. Say he’s knowledge of the Veil, the Fade, of The Mage, makes him more useful to us alive than as feed for merwolves.”

Agatha smiles at him followed with a small nod, “I’ll let them know of your decision then. The trial will take place a week from today so,” she glances at Baz, “I’ll tell everyone the Inquisitor will be preparing and to not disturb you.”

“Thanks Agatha, for everything, for the time and…” Simon trails off, his hand reaching over to Baz’s again.

“Everyone needs the Inquisitor for everything, all the time. And this week, Simon needs the Inquisitor.”

“Aren’t we the same? I can’t really stop being…me.”

“Are you?” Agatha says before slipping out. He can faintly hear her shoes on the stone floor and her rattling instructions off to the staff.

Simon mulls over her question, wondering if there ever would be a time when the Inquisitor stops, and he’s just Simon again. He’s pulled out of his head when he feels Baz’s hand shiver under his.

 _How are you still cold, I’ve only bloody lit a fire and closed the window in here._ Simon adds more logs to the fire and unbuttons several more buttons of his shirt, his waistcoat long discarded to the side.

* * *

**BAZ**

On the fifth day, Baz wakes up. Simon had fallen asleep with his head on the bed, hands still on top of Baz’s, and he only wakes up because Baz uses his knee to give him a gentle shove.

The drool on his face was undignifying, and if Baz had the energy, he’d help the poor man. And though Simon was trying very hard to rub the sleep from his face, there were even things the Inquisitor couldn’t achieve.

Baz moves to sit up in his bed, but his head spins, his head heavy from whatever Trixie had fed him. Simon stood up to help him fluff and prop a pillow up so he could lean back. There was such contentment on Simon’s face that makes Baz yearn for the simplicity. The entire moment was so painfully domestic and tender Baz was ready to shout at him and then kiss him silly.

But Baz was a man of self-control, and when in doubt, he can always rely on his snark (something Niall mockingly refers to as the Grimm Language of Love. Baz does not appreciate the insinuation).

“Took you long enough Snow,” Baz says, fighting the blush creeping up his neck as Simon adjusts the duvet, “I am not a patient man.”

Simon takes his hand and sits back down in his chair, “Thank Merlin I am then,” a lopsided grin spreads on his face as he kicks up his feet to rest at the end of the bed. _Definitely shouting at him, no man gets away with putting up dirty boots on my bed_.

A small voice comes out of Simon, “I thought I lost you,” he says fidgeting with Baz’s earring, “I didn’t know if I needed you to be alive in that coffin for the Inquisition…or for me,” holding out the earring in his palm for Baz, “I didn’t know if you’d pull through, and it terrified me.” For once Simon had all the words and Baz had none. And only because his guard was down and he’s tired does he allow Simon to reach over to his face, resting their foreheads together.

Their faces were so close together he could see the moles on his face, just as he remembered counting back at Emprise du Lion. There was one behind his ear, one on his neck, one hidden amongst the freckles on his left cheek. The winter sun had brought on more freckles, they were lighter than the ones he had before they set off. Simon was looking down at his lips, and all Baz needed to do was to lean forward and their lips would brush.

He could feel his breath hitch, and then he launches into coughing fit. He hates himself for it, but he does lean back from Simon. He just chuckles and starts to leave the room, probably to grab Trixie and the medics.

“I knew you’d find me,” Baz says trying to even his breathing, “So I lived for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the last chapter was quite intense, so it only seemed fitting that while Baz gets some R&R, we all do!
> 
> This is alternatively titled: The One Where Simon and Baz start acting like adults and processing their emotions. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated :)
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it! Find me on Tumblr: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	13. Trials and Tribulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thank you for giving him time.”

**PENNY**

The week leading up to the trial went by in a blur. It seemed that everyone had been briefed on how Penny liked to deal with things: to not be coddled and to let her dive head first into work. All but one – Shepard from…well she doesn’t know, he’s been everywhere and claims to be from nowhere. Unlike when Simon had checked in on her _constantly_ with vague excuses and reasons, Shepard makes no such effort to pretend. She had wondered if he stuck around Penny because she was the only one that tolerated his questions. He was never satisfied with simple answers, always trying to get people to say more. Politely, he was curious, rudely he was precocious and didn’t know when to shut up.

That being said, Shepard doesn’t actually say anything without Penny making the first move. For someone that talks to everyone (once, he managed to rope in a servant into a half hour conversation, he’s been invited to the man’s birthday), he doesn’t initiate conversation with Penny, ever. She had definitely noticed - back at Emprise du Lion, he was full of questions about the Inquisition, Simon, the Mark, the Fade, but now that he was in Watford Keep, part of the Inquisition, he doesn't ask anything.

Regardless, she welcomed his company – he was the perfect sounding board, allowing her take her mind off her research. They talked about everything, her theories about why the Mages Men think tearing down the Veil would help their cause, how Simon’s brand of care involved undivided attention to the point of stalking, and general gossip Shepard’s picked up from the occupants of Watford Keep. And when she wanted to close in on herself, he keeps her company, chatting up a storm with whoever was fortunate to walk by them, never inviting her to join in, but showing her she’s always welcome to do so. It was a kind reminder that everything she built here was good, that other people outside the Inner Circle depended on them.

It does tug on her mind that she didn’t visit Baz, and by extension, Simon, when he was recovering. Penny knew Baz wouldn’t blame her, but she was still apprehensive about seeing him. She remembered how he looked coming out that sarcophagus, grey and weak, distraught from the prolonged exposure to the red lyrium. She also remembers how long it took for her to actually start doing _something_ during the fight, she felt guilty for not jumping into the thick of it and helping Simon free him. It was irrational, it didn’t make sense, and Penny hated that she felt that way.

However, it’ll soon all be over. Hopefully, once Premal has been sentenced by the Coven, she can close this chapter in her life and start living her life again, no matter the outcome.

* * *

The trial came and went. She refused to be treated like glass and offered to testify in front of the Coven against her brother. There had been some resistance, with Agatha pointing out that she didn’t need to prove her loyalties with the Inquisition. Penny knew they trusted her, but she needed to confront her brother and come to terms with his actions with the Mage’s Men. There was no point burying her head in the sand, and if there were ever a moment to salvage the Bunce name, doing it in a public court seemed like the perfect time.

It was painful to see her parents’ faces when Premal was marched out, so she focused on recounting the events at Emprise du Lion with clinical detail. She surprised herself with how she got through her testimony with such detachment – Penny had fully expected to be unable to get through her whole spiel without some interruption. Granted, she was never a crier, but she was basically signing away her brother’s future, which no one really prepares for.

Premal looked resigned to his fate, all the fire he had from fighting was quenched all that was left in front of them was a man who has gambled his life and lost dearly. Penny felt as if she was looking into a mirror – had different decisions been made regarding the Inquisition, or the if The Mage’s Men had taken less horrific actions, it may be her on the stand right now. They both made choices, and despite him warning her, Premal was the one that ended up being on the wrong side.

Penny recused herself when they were discussing his sentence, not being able to agree with any of the measures being suggested. Naturally, many called for his execution. However, some suggested something much crueller – Tranquillity, to remove his connection to the Fade, to cut him off from magick permanently. In the end, the Coven decided to incarcerate him, in exchange, he was to give up information on The Mage and expose their network. Penny’s not sure how they arrived at that decision, but she did know Simon had something to do with them sparing Premal’s life. Last she heard before excusing herself, he had argued that no one would have done what he had if there wasn’t a love for magick, and Tranquility was essentially asking for his death. It was a flimsy reason and Penny knew it – Premal wasn’t going to repent, let alone betray The Mage. However, with Orlais deferring their decision to the Inquisition, the Coven had to respect their wishes to an extent, and there was no pretence with Penny that Simon had only fought to keep him alive for her.

Penny had asked Simon as much when he checked in on her that evening, “Thank you Simon, I know you did what you could.”

To which Simon just shrugged, “You wanted to him to live.”

“I do. You rarely get to live to regret your decisions, so thank you Simon. For trusting in my belief that Premal will regret it,” she explains, “Thank you for giving him time.”

He pulls her into a hug, “We’ll save the world so Premal can have all the time in the world. I know it couldn’t have been easy Pen, and I understand if you need time, so you let me know when you’re ready. I don’t want to push you…like last time.”

“You know me Simon, nothing like dealing with my problems by solving other problems. Thankfully, it’s mostly the same problem. I’ll just prove to Premal that we can make the world a better place, so two birds with one stone,” she says with a light smile.

“Easy then.”

“And Simon, I know you’ve held back on checking in on me, but did you have to send Shepard of all people?” she asks, trying to lighten the mood.

“I didn’t send him. In fact, when I told him to give you space, he turned it around on me and said ‘not everyone is like you Si’.”

“You were a bit keen,” she teased, “But I know you’ve been busy with your attention elsewhere.”

“I thought you wanted to be alone, had I known I – ”

“It’s fine Si, I’m teasing. If anything it was nice to have Shepard around, someone that has no idea how this all works. It was a fresh perspective, and he’s great for white noise.”

“Speaking of Baz,” Penny looks at Simon with a curious look, but he ignores her and continues, “he wanted you to know he doesn’t blame you, and he’d love to see you.”

“What did he _actually_ say? I can’t imagine Basilton Pitch thinking he’d _love_ to see anyone. Well, except…”

Simon cuts her off, “I’m not getting smite for being a messenger – I know you won’t kill me but still,” Simon says with a small laugh, “None of us blame you Penny. It’s hardly fair for us to expect you to do fight your brother, and you did help, in the most constructive way possible.” Penny doesn’t know what to say because, for the most part she understands how everyone feels, letting herself believe in it was another matter.

A slight knock on the door and a servant comes in to summon Simon to the War Room with the others, probably to discuss plans with the Coven about the Mage’s Men. Before he leaves he turns back to Penny, “Go talk to him. He’s been bored out of his mind with the books _I_ bring him – he never reads them.”

“You love it Simon,” Penny says as he walks through the door, and for once Penny doesn’t know how to interpret his shrug.

* * *

The next day Penny makes her way to Baz’s room, she had sent him her research notes on the Fade, if at least to give him something to do. Simon’s been pulled away by the Coven to help chase up on a missing shipment of the red lyrium so he’s not been able to “guard over Baz” as Dev puts it.

When she steps in, she’s relieved to see Baz sat on his bed, papers everywhere and hair pulled up out of his face. “Good to see you Bunce, I was worried you had gone off and started thinking I hated you for what someone else did,” Baz said without even looking up.

“Not even a little resentment?” Penny can’t help but ask.

“If I had to worry about every single relative that did something to another person I knew, I might start worrying about what people think of me,” he says, “So no, Bunce I hold none of it against you.”

It was the nicest that Baz could manage, and Penny knew it, so she decided to stop questioning him and dive right in, “So what do you think?”

“I think it’s interesting that all of the older texts refer to the Fade as a physical realm of magick, rather than newer ones that describe it as a source of some kind,” Baz says, finally looking up, “Your theory that the Mage’s Men thinking of accessing this physical realm, connecting it back to our world would bring magick back is sound.”

He was inviting her to engage with him – to debate with him – just like they always have, “But from what we know of the Humdrum, eating away at the Veil will only take out the magick we have left here. So whatever they’re doing might have the exact opposite effect.”

“My thoughts exactly Bunce.”

“There’s a but, isn’t there?”

“Of course there is.”

And that’s how Penny knew they would be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little perspective from the badass that is Penny Bunce. I always wondered how Penny felt about Premal post-Mage's Men. So this is my take on her thoughts in this AU!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it! 
> 
> There'll be fanart and fashion next chapter! 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	14. The Winter Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom. Inquisitor, we look forward to watching you dance.”

**SIMON**

If there was one way to describe the Winter Palace at Halamshiral, it was opulence in excess. From the marble statues decorating the fountains to the beautiful gold relief adorning the palace walls, everything was set up to let the world know the sheer wealth of the Orlesian Crown.

Agatha had warned him of the nature of the Orlesian court, or as they call it, The Game. Everyone played it, masters of disguises all with hidden agendas. Even getting ready to attend this ball was political. Agatha had insisted that the Inquisition wear something of Orlesian design. Simon had complied, but the three Tevenes refused to wearing anything but robes from their homeland, and somehow got Penny on board with the promise of dire opulence (garments must be functional and stylish Baz had said). Agatha all but gives up when Shepard informs her he’s secured a suit from an Orlesian designer that wasn’t vetted by Agatha.

Simon had wondered why it was so important to dress correctly, not just smartly. That was until he saw how almost every guest at the ball was using context clues to communicate station and status. _Who knew feathers and shoes could be used as armour_.

“Is it really going to be that bad?” he had whispered to Agatha as the rode into the Winter Palace.

“By the end of it Simon, you’ll wish you were in a tent running after Rifts.”

The reception hasn’t even been called, and he’s already exhausted.

**BAZ**

The Orlesian court is famous for its politicking – no ball in its history has not resulted in some scandal being exposed. Some joke that calling for a ball was merely an invitation from the Crown to pay witness to whatever was going to happen. Which was completely different to how these things went in Tevinter. The Old Families plot against each other all the time, if not plotting against one of their own, but whenever there was a gathering or party of this scale all such activities were put on hold. Partially because there are too many witnesses, but also because of the disrespect to the gracious host – no one liked having their home or summer retreat or winter cabin become the scene of a murder, especially when they had nothing to gain from it. But this was Orlais, and Baz, Dev and Niall were all prepared for what the evening would likely bring. He just hopes Simon has been warned about how these evenings usually go.

Speaking of the Inquisitor, Baz has half a mind to thank Agatha for her handiwork. He had been annoyed that Simon didn’t even think to consult with him on sartorial decisions, but Baz couldn’t lie and say Simon didn't look every bit as dashing, charming and important as Agatha needed him to look. It was a stunning grey suit, making him standout amongst the sea of colours by virtue of choosing such a dull colour. _Simon could make even the dullest blue look captivating._

Slowly the guests trickle into the main ballroom from the gardens – guests of lower rank filed in, whilst the more important ones waited to be announced. And as the Inquisition, they were probably the most important people in the room if not for the Empress and the Royal House.

“Remember to smile, Inquisitor, this is all for show. _We_ are the show,” Agatha whispers before they make their way in.

Simon gives Baz a pleading look, and he just couldn’t resist, “Now now Snow, you heard Wellbelove. _Smile_.”

**SIMON**

“ _And now presenting, Lord Inquisitor Salisbury, Herald of the Blessed Merlin and Morgan_.”

There were audible gasps and mummers – Simon had tried to not let his lineage get out too much, and though he felt awkward about parading his mother’s name, it was etiquette and better to have a claim to at least a prominent family. So, he walks a bit taller; concentrating so hard on not tripping he almost forgets to bow toward the Empress. Waiting for the rest of his friends to be introduced before making his way down the Grand Staircase.

_“Accompanying the Inquisitor, making her return to Orlais after seven years, Lady Agatha Leliana Josephine Wellbelove. Ambassador to the Inquisition, Belle of the Ball.”_

Agatha joins his side, cringing at the announcer’s choice of achievement to highlight, “You’d think my unbroken record of wins for dressage would be worth mentioning instead.”

 _Lady Penelope Philomena Pacey Portia Priya –_ ”

“Get on with it,” Penny shouts to the announcer, Agatha’s perfect smile twitching ever so slightly.

“… _Bunce_. _Advisor to the Inquisition, First Mage of the Ferelden Archives,_ ”

She rolls her eyes as she makes her way to Agatha, questioning why she thought it necessary to give the announcer her entire name.

_“Lord Tyrannus Basilton, of House Grimm and Pitch, member of Circle of Patrocles, Member of the Tevinter Magisterium.”_

He gracefully walks to stand on the other side of Simon, ignoring his attempts to hook their hands together. Simon does note the corners of his lips turning up.

“It would seem I’m not the only one with a name Bunce – now tell me, can you actually fit all of those on your labels that you sew into your clothes?” Baz asks. Penny just huffs and Simon bites back a laugh.

“Is your name really Tyrannus?”

“Shut up Snow.”

“ _Master Devlin Cullen, of House Grimm, member of the Circle of Posibelf”_

 _“Master Niall Elliot, of House O’Beirne, Trusted Jewellers and Master Craftsmen to the late Emperor._ ”

Dev waits for Niall to be announced before making their entrance together hand in hand, before coming to a stop next to Baz. Simon supposes there’s no better way to announce to the world of their relationship than to do so in the biggest gathering since the Conclave.

“ _Master Shepard, most recently of the Emprise du Lion. Disciple of The Monastery, Practioner the Way of the Open Hand._ ”

“That explains a lot,” Agatha mutters as Shepard joins Penny’s side.

And there they were, the Inquisition, heroes of Thedas, lead by Simon to greet their gracious host, Empress Philippa.

**AGATHA**

She stands quietly behind Simon as he speaks with the Empress, exchanging pleasantries. From the way that Simon would speak, pause, then reply, Agatha would guess that the Empress was using her newfound telepathy to carry a private conversation. And as she suspected, the moment Empress Philippa got her hands on her diadem, she had commissioned it to be adorned with jewels – rubies, pearl, all small clusters of white diamonds.

“Lady Agatha,” a serene voice suddenly booms in her head. She flinches and she can see the Empress chuckling.“Your Imperial Majesty,” she says dipping into a curtsy.

“Your presence in court has been dearly missed. I must thank you personally for this diadem.”

“The pleasure is mine Your Imperial Majesty,” Agatha says sweetly, “I can see you’ve already made your own additions.”

“Yes, I do have a few more rubies to add. I’m sure you understand, the diadem was so … plain before.”

“Of course. No Orlesian Empress should go without the best,” Empress Philippa has always been one of the nice ones, making it easier to ease back into The Game. She was out of practice, and this exchange was a good trial run.

Empress Philippa turns back to Simon, this time it would seem she was speaking to them all, “Do feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom. Inquisitor, we look forward to watching you dance.”

“Perhaps you may join me for one?” Simon says brazenly, Baz hides a grin and Agatha watches as the Empress is taken aback. _Not sure if he meant to do that, but that’s one way to shake things up_.

* * *

**DEV**

When Agatha asked Dev if he would like be presented with Niall, as a couple, he wrestled with the idea. It was true that Niall had only joined the Inquisition to be with Dev, but he’s so much more than just his lover. Since he’s joined, he’s gone on missions without Dev, built up a network of agents through old trading contacts, contributed to the Inquisition in his own way. He didn't want all his work reduced to just being his partner, so he declined her suggestion, asking her to have them presented separately.

There were other ways to show the world together, which why he waited for Niall to make his entrance. The statement may not have had such a strong impact here, but he’s sure word will spread back home quickly.

“Hello you,” Niall says behind him, an extra wine glass in his hand.

“Hello yourself,” Dev replies, taking the glass and wrapping his other arm around Niall’s waist, “You know, it’s been a long while since we’ve had the chance to relax like this.”

“You consider a ball at the heart of Orlais to be relaxing?”

“After the shit we’ve been going through, I’ll take backstabbing and wine over camping,” taking another swig of his glass.

Even where they were standing in the gardens, the music from the ballroom softly wafts out, providing just enough cover for people’s hushed whispers. Dev was happy to stay here the entire evening, enjoying the gentle breeze, drinking wine, lulled into a sense of stability. Naturally, that’s when Niall gestures his head to someone behind Dev. Turning around he sees a familiar face, a friend from Tevinter, olive skin, amber eyes and an enviable moustache.

“Dorian!” Dev calls out, catching his attention. He makes his way over to them, another man following beside him.

“Dev,” Dorian eyeing his arm around Niall’s waist, “Glad to see things have worked out despite…well everything.”

“It’s nice to see you too Dorian, it’s always nice to see a familiar face at one of these things” Dev smiles, “And this is…?”

“Getting ahead of myself again. _Amatus_ , this is Devlin Grimm and Niall O’Beirne. Gentlemen, this is Trevelyan, of the Ostwick Circle.”

Niall raises an eyebrow at the term, it’s not one Tevenes use lightly to address their partners, even more surprising that Dorian’s the one using it. They both nod at the man, who feels far too comfortable for what might be his first Orlesian affair.

“I am sorry to hear about your aunt, how is your cousin coping?” he asks.

“We’re getting on, but you know Baz. We wouldn’t know if he wasn’t.”

“I have seen him around, still as prickly as ever. But it seems the Inquisitor doesn’t seem to mind one bit,” he says suggestively, and Dev couldn’t help but laugh, even Niall had to duck into his shoulder to stop giggling.

“It would seem that way, wouldn’t it?” Dev manages to get out, smiling.

“I think I speak for the both of us, but if you could keep that quiet, for now, it’d be appreciated,” Niall says.

“Oh those two are just speculation. Now you two, there’s proof, that’s much more valuable back home,” Dorian jokes. After taking a sip from his glass, he turns to Niall, “I must say, your family have outdone themselves, that diadem is exquisite,” Dorian says.

Dev looks to Niall, confused at the compliment. It would appear that Niall was as well, “I agree, but I’m afraid we can’t take credit for that. Our services ended with the Emperor.” There was no way that Dorian Pavus didn’t know that, his father sits on the Magisterium, who were all shocked when the new Empress decided to not renew the contract with the O’Beirnes.

“That’s strange, everyone’s been saying that the new gems for the diadem were sourced from Tevenes – I just assumed they contacted your family for one last job,” Dorian elaborates.

“Who, exactly, is everyone?” Niall presses.

“Grand Duke Gregory Stainton.”

* * *

**AGATHA**

Now that she’s had five conversations and nine proposals for Simon’s hand, she feels like she’s eased herself back in The Game. One of the great things about coming back in the manner she had was that now she wasn’t _just_ a Wellbelove, no one knew what to do with her and she loved it. What Agatha might do may be completely different to what Ambassador Wellbelove would do.

This might explain why when someone bumps into her, they’re not immediately cradling her like a delicate china doll. And likewise, Agatha didn’t need to be gracious and mask her annoyance with trite concern. She wasn’t going to, until she realised that the man who had bumped into her was the Grand Duke himself. Being rebellious was one thing, be rude to actual royalty was another.

“Your Grace, my sincerest apologies,” she says, dipping her head, moving her dress out the way.

“Oh if it isn’t little Lady Wellbelove, Voice of the Crown,” he says snidely. _Not wise to be such an open book Duke_.

“Consider it a gift, my allegiance to Orlais,” Agatha says.

“Some might say you want Orlais to burn – you do detest all of us so much,” he replies.“I want nothing but peace for Orlais, without the Empress, there may be no deterrent against Ferelden and Tevinter going to war.”

“All you have done is give false hope to a weakling unsuited for the Crown,” he spits out, “No matter how you decorate a diadem, it will never be fitting for the Crystal Throne." Agatha eyes him as he does an impressive stumble through the crowd – he stops himself from falling in such a way that his drink will actually spill on anyone. _Too impressive, too showy_.

 _Diadem. Crown. Weakling_.

Agatha lets the Grand Duke’s words play again in her head, but a small commotion stops her. Looking up she sees Niall meandering through the crowd, with Dev following eagerly behind.

 _Niall. Jewels. The diadem_.

She runs after them, presuming they’re looking for Simon.

_I guess we are the show tonight._

* * *

**SIMON**

He likes to think his staying close to Penny, Shepard and Baz came off as aloof and unapproachable, rather than it being obvious he was a bit out of his depth. The few people that have come up to them were all speaking in tongues. Every other word they said hid another meaning, which could then lead to a different conversation. He’s grateful for Baz’s rescue, which usually just involves a scowl or glare and they back off. In fact, Baz has been glaring at people in random directions all evening, which probably means there’s a poor duchess somewhere has the wrong length of gloves or some lord with the hideous hat.

Penny’s slowly coming out of her shell, no doubt thanks to Shepard’s unending energy and determination to make her have fun, let loose. Penny once said to Simon you don’t need too many friends, but he thinks that adding one more might not be so bad.

What should have been a sign that this evening was about to take a turn was when Niall hurries toward them with Dev, and Agatha joining them from the other side of the ballroom.

“Are any of you going to explain anything or am I going to have to read your mind?” Simon asks quietly whilst the three of them exchange looks, “Niall, you got here first, you go.”

“Empress Philippa has been ordering gemstones from Tevinter, and it’s not from any of our usual suppliers, and it definitely didn’t come through my family,” Niall says, “The only reason why you’d look for gems from Tevinter is if you want them enchanted.”

Simon fails to see the issue but Baz and Penny look concerned, he’s slightly reassured when Shepard looks at Niall to elaborate.

“Enchantments can be dangerous, that’s why Niall’s family were contacted by the late Emperor,” Baz explains.

“What do you mean?”

“Enchanting jewels take skill and intention. But hexes can also be placed instead.”

“Enchantments and hexes work very similarly, but it’s always obvious when a hex is used, and if caught quickly enough, could be reversible,” Penny chimes in, “It’d be silly to bet on something that might work.”

“I mean you guys did that with Si’s hand,” Shepard points out, which earns a collective glare from everyone, even Simon.

Ignoring him, Niall continues, “Exactly, the old rule was that they must be enchanted here, in Orlais, by my father, in case anyone had any funny ideas.”

“So someone’s out to get the Empress then?” Simon asks, if anything to clarify it to himself, “And they’re using Tevinter to do their dirty work.”

“Gregory Stainton,” Agatha blurts out, “Whatever he’s been doing, it has something to do with the diadem.”

Simon attempts a casual look at the Empress, and looks at the diadem in its bejewelled brilliance. Diamonds, pearls, rubies, reflecting the chandeliers and sconces.

 _Rubies_.

“They’re not gems,” Simon says, “It’s red lyrium.” His hand instinctively reaches out for Baz’s, as if mention of the words itself would cause him to relive that day. “The missing shipment, the one that the Mage’s Men lost. It must have been scooped up by someone else.”

They stand there in silence, stunned, because despite their efforts, red lyrium was still haunting them. “We can’t confront them,” Agatha suddenly says. It was then that Simon realised that her smile never fell from her face, and except for Shepard, Penny and himself, they all looked calm. _You people are scary._

True to form, Penny speaks up, “So what do we do Aggie? We need a plan.”

“Like any good party in Orlais, there has to be a scandal. And we’re here to deliver the best one the Crystal Throne has seen in years.”

“You’re saying we let them fall deeper into their own plot,” Baz says.

“Then, exposing them when the evening reaches its climax.”

If Simon was confused before, now he’s utterly lost. _We have a theory, a likely culprit, why not just confront the bastard and be done with it_. However, this was Agatha’s home and he was so far out his depth, he’ll let her handle it in the way she sees fit.

“So what do we do?” Simon asks blankly.

“Like any good exposé, we gather evidence. The Grand Duke is staying here during the festivities, if he’s our man, the clues will be here,” Agatha says, “But we can’t send you Simon.”

“Why?”

“Ah yes, no one is going to notice the Inquisitor missing from the ball, and they definitely won’t see him snooping around,” Baz deadpans.

Simon is annoyed, but Baz did have a point, He looks around at his friends and suddenly an idea starts forming, “Shepard, you go.”

“I’ll go?”

Simon could see the cogs in Agatha’s head turning, “You’re the most inconspicuous one out of all of us. And if any else goes, gets caught, they’ll _know_ there’s an agenda involved. With you, they won’t suspect a thing.”

“They won’t?” Agatha and Shepard both ask incredulously.

“No because Shepard is unique out of all of us. He’s not from some prominent family, or some powerful mage or whatever. Plus, I’ve heard you talk, I’m sure you can charm the pants of the Grand Duke if you had to.”

Shepard smiles at the compliment, and Agatha seems to be in agreement with Simon’s take on the matter.

“I’m coming with you,” Penny says, “You can barely see the pink lining, and I’m actually dressed sensibly. If you run into any magick, you’ll need back up, or at least someone to tell what’s important for our plan. Worse comes to worse, if we get caught we can just say we’re sneaking off or something. That happens at parties like this right? ”

And just like that, they have a plan. And for once, Simon had nothing to do with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised there'd be art! 
> 
> If there's a ball, then there should be outfits that match. Did I use 2010-2020 designs for my high fantasy/medieval AU? Yes. 
> 
> Did I just want them to look beautiful? Also yes.
> 
> Simon and Agatha are wearing Dior (French...therefore Orlesian) (Yes, I gave Agatha Princess Margaret's 21st Birthday dress designed by Dior himself).  
> Baz, Dev and Niall are wearing Alexander McQueen (English and Posh...therefore Tevinter.)  
> Penny is wearing Alexander McQueen (because she doesn't care about politics, and the blazer looked great)  
> Shepard is wearing Balmain (French/Orlesian, but also understated and elegant. Nothing about Orlais is understated)
> 
> Hope you guys liked this little change of pace from hack and slash to an attempt at political intrigue/mystery. 
> 
> You can follow me on Tumblr here: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com  
> I've also made a post with the links to the specific outfits I referenced :)


	15. I Could've Danced All Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Initiative yeah?"

**SHEPARD**

When Shepard joined the Inquisition, he had expected everything to be run like a tight ship, with strict rules and decisions to be bogged down by proprietary, all subject to the Inquisitor’s approval. It didn’t take very long for that idea to fly out the window. Simon’s a solid guy, surrounded that people that obviously care very much about him. And because of this, he quite literally puts his life in their hands and will do as he’s told. This was probably how he became exactly what everyone needed when they needed him, because he moulded himself to be just that.

So for Simon, sitting on the sidelines, while he and Penny go do some reconnaissance was probably entirely foreign to him. He didn’t have anything to do, except to be seen and just enjoy the party. As nice as that sounds, Shepard knows Simon would rather help and do the heavy lifting, but as good as a guy Simon is, quick wit and conversation wasn’t his strongest asset.

“So do you actually have a plan, or are you just going to go ask some poor lady-in-waiting?” Penny whispers as Shepard waltz out of the ballroom, winding out of the reception to venture into the servant’s corridors. It’s bustling with people running back and forth, replenishing empty trays with more food and drink, musicians tapping in and out from the various bands dotted around the palace grounds.

“Have you guys thought about asking the servants? They’re not blind. They know things,” Shepard explains.

“You think they’d talk to us?”

“Well they have no interest in who sits on the throne, or who’s bed they’re making up. So long as they get their three meals and their pay, they probably don’t give a shit what’s brewing.”

And so he starts, he begins some benign conversation with an exhausted servant boy, trying to rub the strain out of his neck, offering advice on how to relax muscle fatigue, and how to shift one’s body weight from the palms of the feet to the ankles to prevent stillness setting in. Penny stays quiet and let’s Shepard do his job, and he’s grateful – none of the Inquisition are charmers, maybe Simon, but in a bumbling, shockingly humble kind of way.

“What’s the deal with the Empress’s crown anyway, I’ve been hearing these rich pricks talk about it non-stop,” Shepard says off-handedly.

“The rubies?”

“Yeah – they’re pretty and all, can’t say I understand the fuss.”

“I heard that the gems were so expensive the Grand Duke had to sell of some of his own personal collection to finance it – a pricey show of allegiance to the new Empress.”

“That’s one hefty tribute to the Empress,” Penny chimes in.

“Well, when you’re next in line for the throne, you better show yourself as the least threatening person at court, otherwise our bitter Grand Duke may find himself in a ditch somewhere.”

“It’d be rude not to accept such a gesture, right?” Shepard comments.

“Especially with that ludicrous story about the Diviners guaranteeing a prosperous Orlais with these blessed stones.”

“The Diviners?” Penny asks, tensing next to Shepard.

“Yes, the Minotaur. I heard he used to teach some of the Tevenes in the Inquisition’s Inner Circle.”

Before Shepard could press further, there was a booming voice, “Get back to work you,” and their new friend quickly gets up before shooting off, fixing his shirt and jacket. Shepard and Penny follow soon after, finding a small alcove to discuss their new discoveries.

“So the Diviners are involved, interesting,” Penny mutters, “but they’re largely concerned with Tevinter politics. Wading their way into Orlais is definitely out of character.”

“What if we’re thinking about this wrong way?” Penny suddenly pulls him closer, and he was about to protest when he sees another group of nobles shuffling next to them. _Vultures._ “What if he didn’t contact them, but they contacted him. They wanted something in his personal connection, and…”

“…and so they give him the means to, well, do whatever it is he is doing.”

“We need to dig a little deeper,” Shepard says. He leans back, giving Penny some space to think, not wanting to overstep. Suddenly she darts from him and starts whispering at a servant with a tray. He turns to Shepard, and gives Penny an approving sort of nod before whispering to Penny again.

“What was that?” he asks when Penny waves him over and starts moving out from the parlour to a set of stairs.

“I followed your lead, asked the servants where the bedrooms were,” Penny says as she starts ascending the stairs, “They suggested the gardens, it’s more thrilling apparently. But I insisted that we need a bedroom.”

“Didn’t know you had it in you Penny.”

“There’s plenty you don’t know Shep,” she teases as they reach the landing.

“Now what?”

“Do you think he’s kept any of it in his room?”

“Only one way to find out. Problem is – how do we find out?”

Penny smirks, and holds out her ring. She recalls the day at the quarry, the way the red lyrium smelled in the air, how it made her veins sing, its beautiful red shine standing out sharply against the snow, “ ** _Come out, come out, wherever you are!_** ” A beat passes and they hear a soft thud against a door, and they hurry towards it.

Penny spells the door open when Shepard stops her, “I’ll go in first, throw it as far as I could, and then you come in.” He slips in and after a bit of a shuffle and Shepard opens the door and welcomes her in. Without another word, they start searching, files, bank notes, letters tucked in binders, cabinets, drawers – anything that can shed light on the situation.

“Penny I think I’ve found something,” Shepard says, holding up a letter, “It’s from the Diviners.” Penny joins him, and reads over it as well, eyes widening at its contents.

“Let’s gather everyone. They’ll want to hear this.”

* * *

**PENNY**

When she went off with Shepard, she honestly hadn’t expected him to do so much of the work. Before this, she just thought he had asks questions for the sake of it – be it to fill the silence or to hear the sound of his own voice. But seeing how he buttered up the servant, how he leads a conversation without ever letting his target realise they were being lead, Penny wonders how many times he’s done the same to her. To be fair, it was never with malice or ulterior motive when he spoke to her, and since the trial, it’s been Penny that’s initiated conversation.

Maybe she had underestimated him before, but it was easy to unload on someone who didn’t seem to carry any burdens. While highly stressful situations do not provide a strong foundation for any relationship, Shepard was there for the quiet ones too. Whatever this was, she’ll revisit later – right now, she had a job to do.

Returning to the ballroom, it was easy to find her friends, who have not moved an inch from their spot. Simon sees them first, anxiety written all over his face. _Guess he’s not used to being the one sitting around and waiting_.

“Anything?” he asks the second they join up with the group.

“Yes, your suspicions were correct Agatha,” she says, “but it’s not just any Tevene source, the _stones_ are from the Diviners.” Baz, Dev and Niall’s looked surprised, confirming Penny’s suspicions that this was indeed an unusual move for them.

“They wrote to the Grand Duke, offering the red lyrium in exchange for one of the gems in his private collection,” Shepard explains, “A Cerulean Heart?”

“They’ve been searching for all matters of gems and jewels, but seems pretty extreme to interfere with Orlais just to get their hands on it,” Niall comments, “They’ve been doing it for a while now, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why.”

“So he took the red lyrium, highly dangerous, but it’s not like the Empress is consuming it, so what’s his plan?” Simon asks.

“If I’m not wrong, because the diadem is a magickal item, it could be empowered by the red lyrium. But that means Empress Philippa is inadvertently drawing on the red lyrium as well as the inherent magickal properties of the diadem,” Baz explains.

“How’d you figure that out?”

“Well Snow, It’s a very Tevene way of getting rid of someone, it’s clean, time consuming and cruel. The Grand Duke’s looking to drive her mad,” Baz says bluntly.

“Is there anything else in the letter?” Dev asks.

“Just something about the Diviners won’t forget the Grand Duke’s contribution to their effort to bring peace,” Shepard says.

“Do you have the letter on you?” Agatha asks, and Penny nods, “Perfect.” She turns to Simon, “I know you’re itching to do something.” She motions for Penny to give Simon the letter which she does, not quite sure where she’s going with this.

Suddenly a bell rings out, and the orchestras being a sweeping melody. “Simon, ask the Empress for a dance,” Agatha instructs, “Take the letter and convince her.”

“You want me to do the talking,” Simon says incredulously. _He does have a point_.

“If any of us go, it’d be improper, but a dance between the Inquisitor and the Empress will just look like a public confirmation of each other’s authority,” Agatha says. And with that, Simon makes his way toward the Empress, and shortly they’re on the dance floor.

The rest of them gather alongside balustrade, looking down on the polished dance floor, praying Simon doesn’t step on too many toes.

**SIMON**

_I really should’ve asked Baz for lessons. Didn’t count on this being key to saving her bloody life_.

Simon leads Empress Philippa, uncomfortably and awkwardly, through the beginning steps of a dance (he’s just guessing at this point). His eyes dart up to his friends, and just sees Baz shaking his head. _Definitely should’ve asked him, at least stepping on his toes would be fun_.

He turns back to Empress Philippa, beautiful and bright as ever, from the gems on her head to the crystals sewn into her dress catching the light from the chandeliers. Simon assumes, at least visually, they look the part of a monarch and a confident leader of a political powerhouse. If only they knew how many times he’s already stepped on her toes.

Simon’s managed to slip the letter into her hand when he lead her to the dance floor, but now comes the difficult bit.

“Your Imperial Highness,” Simon says quietly.

“Lord Inquisitor,” she says.

“Yes, that. Don’t do that, don’t use your crown, tap my shoulder once if you’re alright with that?” She looks at him suspiciously, but she gives him a gentle tap nonetheless.

“That letter in your hand right now, it’s from the Diviners, it’s addressed to your cousin,” he starts, overturning Empress Philippa during a spin, “He’s plotting to have you removed.”

Empress Philippa raises an eyebrow, and Simon genuinely wonders if the high society across Thedas has special classes on eyebrow choreography. He’s never seen Penny do it with this much purpose, or success.

“I’m guessing you knew that already, didn’t you?” a tap on his shoulder.

“And you know we’d save you, because we need your backing?” Another tap. “How you have so much time to play these minds games with each other, don’t you have an empire to run?” Simon drops her hand and picks her up by the waist, following the lead from the others that have joined them on the dancefloor. He could feel her giggling – at his comment or his dancing he’s not sure.

Pulling her in after she lands, and leaning into a dip, “In that case, we’ll need your diadem.” The crowd was politely applauding now that the dance has come to an end, and Simon could feel his palms getting clammy, and Empress Philippa was weighing up her options, “It’s the rubies, they’re not actually rubies,” Simon adds.

He’s not sure if he did a good job convincing her, but a gentle tap on his shoulder as he pulls them upright again is all the confirmation he needed.

Simon looks back up at his friends and gives them a nod.

* * *

**NIALL**

They join Simon and Empress Philippa at the top of stairs, and Niall volunteers to remove the red lyrium from the diadem, given that he’s the only one who actually knows how to do it. Before he heads off with the Empress, he heard Dev begging Baz to come with him, reasoning that if he managed to not give in for an entire night, he’s the only one Dev trusts to stand guard over Niall.

It was a quiet walk to the Royal Chambers, the sound of their heels echoing down the hallway. As soon they arrive, Empress Philippa waves at her handmaidens and guards to stay out, of the room. Niall begins to wonder if the Empress showing up with two men to her bedchambers was a common occurrence given how accustomed they were to her gesture.

Once inside, she removes her diadem and Niall gets to work. Admittedly, it’d be a lot quicker if he had his tools with him, but his father said any self-respecting jeweller should be able to do his job regardless of the circumstances. It would also be helpful if his focus weren’t being assaulted by the red lyrium. He feels Baz’s hand on his shoulder, the same look of discomfort on his face.

The issue they were facing was that it wasn’t the gem they were trying to save, but the underlying diademHaving examined how the red lyrium was set into the diadem, he turns to the Empress, “Your Imperial Highness, do you have tweezers?” he asks, ignoring the fact that he was essentially ordering a monarch around. If she’s offended, she doesn’t make it known because very quickly, a pair of golden tweezers appeared.

“What you going to do?” Baz asks, probably for the benefit of Empress Philippa.

“My plan is to heat up the diadem, soften the prongs that the red lyrium is set in, and then ply them off. If all goes according to plan, it shouldn't warp the diadem,” he explains, looking to the Empress for permission to proceed.

With her nod, he begins. Whoever set the red lyrium in made sure to use large pieces and small clusters under the guise of aesthetics to maximise the amount of red on the diadem before it became gaudy. Thankfully, there were no qualms about scratching up the stones, so Niall picks and prods at them, touching the diadem as little as possible on account of the metal being extremely hot.

He felt too warm in his jacket, and his eyes were straining, given the amount of glare coming off from any surface in the room, and how small some of the pieces were, but with a moderately steady hand and Baz’s occasional squeeze on the shoulder, he’s managed pry every single piece of red lyrium from the diadem.

“It’s done,” he says leaning back, “I’ve added a cooling spell, so it should be ready for you to wear soon.”

Empress Philippa scrawls on her stationary an elegant ‘Thank You.’

“Time to give the people what they want?” Baz asks, cocking an eyebrow, and she nods, grinning at him, “In that case we look forward to your speech.” He dips his head into a bow and starts helping Niall up. “You alright?”

“Yes, but I never want to be near that stuff ever again.”

“You and me both,” Baz says, adding after a pause, “You know, he really cares about.”

“Dev? I’m surprised you noticed.”

“What? Of course I noticed, he was practically begging for me to come with you.”

“I mean you’ve spent half the evening staring dreamily at Simon, and the other half glaring at any poor Viscount or Marquees who’s doing the same.”

Baz pointedly ignores him while he scoops up the red lyrium and marches out of the Royal Chambers. Niall couldn’t help but laugh before following him.

* * *

**SIMON**

Baz and Niall join them, both looking a bit worse for wear. Soon after, he sees Empress Philippa enter the ballroom again, flanked by a dozen Imperial guards, her diadem noticeably barer than before. Simon also sees the Grand Duke stare at the Empress from the dance floor then whipping his head up glare at the Inquisition.

“It’s time,” Agatha whispers, he wishes he could ignore the excitement in her voice.

And so, they all make their way through the crowd, to confront the Grand Duke, the quiet whispers of the other nobles get considerably louder as they realise something was about to happen. _If it’s a show they want, then they’ll fucking well get one_.

“Your Grace,” Simon says, “It looks like we owe the court one more show.”

“Inquisitor,” any hostility he had in his eyes before was gone, if anything, he sounds surprised.

“You’ve been beaten. You’ll never get to the Empress, or onto the Crystal Throne.”

“Oh Inquisitor, you’re quite the comic aren’t you?”

“It’s no joke. Your attempt to assassinate the Empress has failed,” Simon says, taking a step closer to the Grand Duke.

“Attempt? I have done no such thing,” affronted by Simon’s accusations, “Philippa I would never.”

“Conspiring with foreign agents, smuggling contraband into Orlais, endangering the Crown, shall I go on?”

There were audible gasps that echo throughout the ballroom. He turns desperately around for any support from the crowd, all of whom were too absorbed in the drama unfolding before them. If Empress Philippa wasn’t going to do anything, Simon could at least rest easy that the court of public opinion was on his side.

“This is slander. What proof do you have for your wild stories, I will not stand for this,” he barks. Baz scoffs behind Simon and throws the extracted red lyrium at the feet of the Grand Duke. “These are priceless blessed gemstones I bought specifically for my dear cousin. This is preposterous.”

“Is it?” a voice rings out in everyone’s head, and they all turn to look at Empress Philippa, in her hand the letter from the Diviners. She begins to read from it, “Should you provide us with the Cerulean Heart you have tucked away in your vaults, we will in turn provide you with a means of removing the Empress. Enclosed are several red lyrium crystals, which would look beautiful if set on the diadem, wouldn't you agree?”

Right as she finishes her sentence, Empress Philippa raises an elegant figure and guards descend on the Grand Duke from all directions, whisking him away for what Simon assumes would be a very short trial.

The crowd erupts into applause as the Grand Duke is being dragged away and Simon decides promptly was done with the evening. _I need to get out of here_.

* * *

**BAZ**

Simon ducks out from the ballroom as soon as he could. Baz appreciates that the first time anyone attends a ball it could be exhausting, especially one as eventful as the one tonight. However, he suspects it’s also because Simon was so out of his element that he feels like his nerves have worn him out.

He follows Simon through the gardens, always a few steps behind him. Baz wasn’t even sure if his company was wanted, but things were different now, they had a truce between them, so it was perfectly acceptable for Baz to check in on Simon.

Baz finds him sitting by The Baths of Selene and Helios, an impressive man-made grotto with beautiful cascading waterfalls, decorated with statues and sculptures paying homage to the Moon and the Sun.

“Why’d you follow me?” Simon asks.

“I wanted to check if you were doing alright.”

“I’m just worn out. Tonight has been…very long,” Simon says, running his hands through his hair, freeing the last bit of curls that had escaped any attempt at styling.

Baz chuckles at the understatement, “You saved the day Snow, a civil war averted, the Inquisition formally recognised by a head of state – and you only trampled on one Empress’s toes doing it.”

“Sounds like a cause for celebration, huh?” he says, picking up a stray pebble and throwing it into the grotto.

He looks knackered, and a part of Baz wants to make him shine like the sun again, to smile again. Before he realises what he’s doing his hand is stretched out, inviting Simon.

“You asking me to dance Baz?” he says, that familiar cheer returning to his voice.

“Well one of us has to have initiative.” Smiling at him, Simon takes his hand to get up and Baz doesn’t hesitate to pull him into a slow dance, swaying from side to side, the music from the ballroom barely audible from the grotto.

Simon was looking at him, those painfully mundane blue eyes piercing into his, his freckles barely visible in the moonlight. As they continue to sway, the playful look Simon had when Baz pulled him in was all but gone, replaced with an expression Baz’s not seen Simon wear before. Was it fear? Hope? Anticipation? 

Suddenly he leans up, brushing his lips against Baz’s. It was tender and quick, and when Simon pulls back, he’s grinning, “Initiative, yeah?”

Baz responds by kissing the stupid grin off Simon’s beautiful face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sun & Moon. Geddit?
> 
> Shepard being the conversationalist he is. 
> 
> Also...it only took them 15 chapters but they finally kiss!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated :) Thanks to all of those that have commented and are excited about this fic!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	16. New Feelings, Old Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then again, when an old tome talks about the same Prophecy that everyone has heard of at least twice before learning their first cantrip, it might just be that she skimmed it.

**BAZ**

Simon used to follow Baz around quite a bit. He remembers the first set of reasons were because he’s a ‘Vint, and Simon couldn’t trust him. He thought Baz would let the Inquisition deal with the Humdrum and the Breach then set Tevinter on them. _I just needed to get away from you. Everyone knows what happens when you fly too close to the sun_.

Since Emprise du Lion, Simon’s tone changed dramatically, but a new set of accusations arose. Baz remembers one particularly laughable conversation.

“I’m just worried you’re sneaking off to get a hit of the stuff,” Simon had admitted one evening. As if he were some bloodthirsty vampire, hunting for the blood of innocent mages. Baz was sure to let Simon know exactly what he thought, and his excuse was simply “You’re the type to go for the fanciest stuff available.”

In retrospect, Baz knows that was just Simon’s brand of care – a constant need to know that those he cares about were safe, but he wasn’t resourceful enough to simply have others keep tabs on them. Simon had to do things himself, seemingly unaware of the fact that he can’t be everywhere for everyone all the time.

Whether or not their past made sense, the two of them have spoken about it and have decided to enjoy the present, whatever they are. That, in itself, was a mystery that Baz wasn’t exactly sure how to approach. He was almost certain that Simon would like to keep them a secret to protect his infallibility, his divinity, but one day Simon just grabbed his hand as they walked into the War Room. Then, there was the time during dinner when Simon just held out a spoonful of his food asking Baz to taste it, saying “I swear it’s the same stuff as last week, just with more spices,” beaming at Baz when he took a bite.

Even during the early hours of this very morning, Baz bolts awake, realising he had fallen asleep with Simon. He had always made it a point of going back to his own room, no matter how late or how tired he was, worrying about people seeing him leave the Inquisitor’s room. Simon evidently didn't’ share the same concerns, he just brushed Baz off and pulled him back into his arms. And before he knew it Simon’s mouth was on his, doing this thing with chin that drives Baz mad. None of the Inner Circle were particularly pleased when they both ran into the War Room, later than either of them have been before.

It was pathetic, that Baz was allowing himself to be satisfied with whatever Simon would let him have, but he’s so painfully happy he couldn’t bring himself to care. Whatever they were, there was a “them”. If they weren’t constantly running headfirst into trouble, Baz would worry if there was an after for them, but why rock the boat when things were so new, fresh and tender?

He pushes his thoughts on Simon to the side, now that they were spending their nights together, he could redirect the times he spent pining to actually useful things – like tackling the Catacomb Archives. He excused himself from this morning’s briefing, despite protests from Simon, so he better get some work done. And so, he pulls a stack of books and several piles of scrolls and beings reading.

* * *

**SIMON**

In all honesty, he didn’t know he wanted to kiss Baz until he did it. And now that he’s done it, he couldn’t stop. It was fascinating to watch all of his angles and edges disappear with each kiss. Admittedly, it stung at first when Baz insisted on leaving back to his room, but Simon never asked him to stay, until this morning. It turns out that was all it took for Simon to find out Baz was a tangle of limbs, jet black hair and the worst morning temper he’s ever had the pleasure of experiencing. He somehow looked more beautiful with his hair undone, delicately framing his face. How could he resist? Simon may be the most important man in Thedas right now, but he was a man nonetheless.

There had been others before, but none of them pulled Simon in like Baz did. He wish he could say he knew the moment he saw Baz, but what they had was built on months of life or death situations, quiet moments of vulnerability and a slow realisation on Simon’s part that this was someone he couldn’t lose. It also came with the painful awareness that his constant bickering with Baz, that unconscious need to know what he’s doing constantly was just excuses to just be around him. _I’m hoping I keep him blissful enough he never comes to realisation. That’s a plan I don’t mind carrying out. I don’t think he’d mind either_.

One thing that bugged him was that despite their new relationship was how Baz greeted him. In front of everyone he was still Snow, but in private, all it took was Simon saying he preferred to be called by his name for Baz to whisper into his ear throughout the night. Perhaps he was keeping his distance for appearances, but he didn’t seem to mind it whenever Simon did something affectionate in public.

What mattered was that what they have now, they have it. And it was such a wonderful feeling, Simon finds himself smiling at nothing more often than not these days. Then again, the most important people to him – The Inner Circle – knew about them, judging by how annoyed they all were when they fell through the door to the War Room this morning. Simon had expected more surprise or questions, but not even Shepard said a thing and they just continued on with briefing as normal.

“Simon!” a voice shouts, and then he remembers he’s not actually been listening for the last half hour, not since Baz left.

“Sorry, yes?” he says sheepishly.

“Do you want me to go fetch Baz?” Penny says with her arms crossed.

“I thought you didn’t like it when I talked about him,” he mumbles.

“Well it’s better than talking to a wall,” she teases.

“It’s fine. I’m sorry, I was just distracted. Please...don’t continue, can we start again?”

“I bet you were distracted,” Dev chimes in.

“I’m going to ignore you.”

“As I was saying, the agents have come back to us with information about the Diviners, and combined with the news from my family, it seems they’re gearing up for something that is truly insane.”

“Wait, the Diviners?” Simon asks, and he can see Penny throw her head into her hands, “If it’s them, I better grab Baz. If anything he’ll be twice as useful as I am. Magick, you know?” And he runs out the door.

* * *

**PENNY**

They all look at each other, flabbergasted that their Inquisitor had been reduced to a puppy that was stupidly in love, and not a single hex or love potion was needed. She sees Agatha round the room to grab a ledger, and everyone starts fiddling with the coin purses.

“So, who had chasing after Baz during a War Room briefing?” she says, scanning the long list of bets that have been made.

“I had ‘Chasing after Baz the minute he leaves the room’, does that count?” Shepard tries. Penny pitied the man for trying to argue with the house, especially when Agatha’s the house. He’d be lucky if he can afford any ale at the tavern later.

“Different wording, and different rate. Also, it’s been at least thirty minutes,” Agatha says.

“I’ll be taking that win,” Niall says rubbing his hands together, “Which with my earlier take on them arriving late together, barely dressed, should take me to…forty sovereigns.”

“Thirty sovereigns,” Penny corrects, “You lost to me about when they’ll actually get together.”

“That’s bullshit Bunce, I bet they’d get together during Spring.”

“It literally wasn’t Spring,” Penny says exasperated, “Agatha, tell him.”

“Penny is correct. The Ball was to celebrate the end of Winter, which would put it just a day before the first day of Spring in Orlais. And since I’m running this, we use my calendars,” she says winking at Penny.

“I’m being robbed in broad daylight,” Niall pouts to Dev, who surprisingly hasn’t hedged a single bet.

“Don’t you think it’s sad that we have an Inquisition-wide betting pool on when those two will get together?” Shepard says.

“Firstly, it’s only a select few – us, Trixie, Cook Pritchard, Fiona Pitch. And secondly, you’re just bitter you’ve made poor choices,” Penny says, patting Shepard on the back.

“How is someone all the way in Tevinter placing bets on this?” he asks.

“Dev has been acting as a proxy. And don’t you worry, I’ll pay for your drinks tonight,” Penny says, rubbing circles on his back and Shepard smiles back at her. She’s glad all the attention was on Simon and Baz, because she’d be mortified about what her friends would have to say about them. Then again, she’s not been making it painfully obvious, with those two, it only took having eyes.

“I think I hear them,” Dev says. And with practiced speed, Agatha slots the ledger back on the shelf and sits patiently for the two of them to join them again.

* * *

**BAZ**

“ _It is often stated that Merlin and Morgana, prior to their ascension to the Heavens, bestowed upon their people a grim prophecy – One will come to end magick, and One will bring its fall. However, in her native tongue, the Fey, One holds numerical but also symbolic meaning._ ” The passage gets Baz’s interest and he was surprised that Bunce missed it at all. Then again, when an old tome talks about the same Prophecy that everyone has heard of at least twice before learning their first cantrip, it might just be that she skimmed it.

“ _One represents wholeness, but the use of ‘One’ twice could mean the figure is one and the same_ ,” just as the Diviners insinuated, but that was one interpretation. One that Baz refuses to entertain.

“ _However, the structure of the Prophecy, ‘One’ juxtaposed against each other, may suggest reflection, or a mirrored existence_ ,” Baz was about to turn the page when he hears a heavy set of boots descend the stone steps.

Simon emerges from the dimly lit stairwell, brushing out the cobwebs, “Miss me already Snow?”

“And if I said I did?” he smirks.

“I’d say find a hobby,” Baz comments, continuing on with his reading.

“You’re a hobby,” Simon says, kissing the top of his head.

“I assume there’s actual business to tend to, the briefing can’t be over already.”

“Niall has information on the Diviners, I figured you’d want to hear it first hand.”

Baz was torn between his reading and finding out what his fellow countrymen were getting up to, “You’re right, I do,” he admits, “But I also just stumbled on something that could be quite useful about the Prophecy.”

Simon holds out his hand, “I’ll lead.”

And with that, Simon holds Baz’s hand leading them from the Catacombs to the War Room while Baz finishes reading the next section of text.

“ _Mirrored existences could mean that there is more than a single soul, perhaps half of one, a phantom existence. And together they will herald the end of magick and cause the fall of their own reflection._ ”

* * *

**SIMON**

He takes his time leading Baz through Watford Keep, everyone else stepping aside for their Inquisitor, clearing a path from the main hall all the way to the War Room. Some are surprised, but no one says anything whilst Simon is there, perhaps this was the most human they’ve seen him, holding someone else’s hand. _At least now I know Baz doesn’t mind literally everyone knowing_.

The rest of the Inner Circle were exactly where he left them, suspiciously so, no one’s even moved around to take a seat or shuffled. The only proof he had that time didn’t freeze when he stepped out was Shepard looking put out. Simon eyes the shelf, and notices the ledger was placed upside down. _These people think they’re so slick_.

“Sorry, we’re back, where’d we leave off?” Simon says his hand still intertwined with Baz’s.

Niall clears his throat, now leaning over the War Table, “As I was saying, the Diviners are up to something insane, even by Inquisition standards. While we initially thought they were just scouring Thedas for random gems, with the Cerulean Heart that they requested from the Grand Duke, and what my family has heard from the trade, it seems they are after very specific gems. Five diamonds to be exact, all different colours.”

“Any chance they’re just in a flaunting mood?” Shepard asks, clearly lost like Simon was about the implications.

“What colours are they looking for” Baz asks, his brows were knitted together and his lips pulled into a thin line, an expression that Simon now knows was Baz’s thinking face.

“White, red, blue, green and black,” Niall says firmly, Dev straightens and Baz’s scowl grows deeper.

“My agents have also reported that in addition to scouring Thedas for all kinds of gems, they have been rounding up people, mostly those displaced by demons appearing, or trumped up charges against made up under the guise of the Magisterium.”

“Rounding them up for what?” Penny asks, nervous about where this was going. Simon hopes it’s not another red lyrium related debacle, for his own sanity and Penny’s wellbeing.

“No, nothing to do with red lyrium,” Niall reassures, “but somehow not any better.”

“They’re attempting a summoning,” Baz says, “Which may not be as depraved as what the Mage’s Men were doing, but no less bloody, and dangerous.”

“What would they be summoning?”

“Tiamat,” Niall says, “‘When the purest of the stars are awashed with blood, the Dragon Goddess shall emerge to lay waste on those who disturb her slumber’. Or so the legends go.”

“So the stars bit is metaphorical, but the blood bit is literal?” Shepard says incredulously, “Why do you people even _know_ dark shit like this?”

“Do you know why they might be attempting to summon some malevolent Dragon Goddess?” Agatha asks, “I can’t imagine any situation requiring that kind of fire power, even if it’s to wage war with Ferelden and Orlais.”

“Is it to fight the Humdrum. Are they thinking of fighting fire with fire? If the Humdrum can summon an Archdemon, maybe they’re trying to level the playing field?” Simon suggests.

Niall looks uncomfortable, his eyes flickering between Simon and Baz, and it’s Baz who speaks first, “It’s the Prophecy isn’t?” Niall just nods.

“What about it?”

“One way the Prophecy could be read is the one to bring the end to magick is _also_ the one to bring its fall. So the problem starts and ends with Snow,” Baz explains.

“That’s a stretch, and you know it Baz,” Penny says, sternly.

“It is one interpretation. There is also mention of a possibility of a mirrored existence, which suggests an entity divorced from Snow, though I don’t think the Diviners are acting on _possible_ interpretations on this,” Baz says bluntly.

A panic runs through Simon. The Diviners had said he could open and close Rifts. It’s what the Mage’s Men wanted to do, to tear down the Veil. Both of these groups seem to think that's Simon could do it. Given how magick pulses in his veins, his connection with the Fade, his ability to just make _things_ happen, it didn’t seem impossible that he could just tear down the Veil.

“It doesn’t matter what we think,” Simon says, “What matters is what they think.”

“Snow…” He feels Baz’s hand tighten around his.

“Niall, do you know where they’re planning to do this?”

“Adamant Fortress, in the Western Approach. They’ve been transporting their captives en masse there.”

“The last thing we need is the Humdrum and a Dragon Goddess running around Thedas at the same time.”

“What’s the plan then?” Penny asks.

“We lay siege on Adamant Fortress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm happy to report that I have finished writing the remaining chapters of this fic! Already mapping out the next one haha
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Bit of fun, bit of plot!
> 
> Feel free to hedge your bets in the comments about what our boys get up to :)
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: http://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	17. Adamant Fortress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I could do this all day, do your worst!”

**BAZ**

It didn’t take long to assemble the Inquisition’s forces and to move into the Western Approach. It also didn’t take a spy network and the resources available to the Inquisition to see there was something going on at Adamant Fortress. There was red haze surrounding the Fortress, and anyone who has half a decent mage could feel the magick rolling off its walls.

Simon and Penny were directing the initial attack, rows and rows of trebuchets and ballistae surrounded the outer walls of the Fortress, sending wave after wave of stone and boulders, set alight by magick. It would have been easier had the Diviners not been warned beforehand, but the mages lining the top of the ramparts could only defend against so many projectiles. Before they knew it, Agatha had ordered for the battering rams to roll in. Very quickly, the gates to the Fortress were breached. He had been surprised with Agatha being here at all, but she had offered to join them, saying they’ll need as much help as they could get. He knows Simon requested that she be their Ambassador, but it would seem her talents extend to strategizing and mobilising forces too.

That was his cue. He runs ahead with Dev and Niall, along with other battle mages to clear a path for Simon and the rest of the cavalry. Tevene magick and Ferelden magick were very similar, but there were nuances in how their spells differ, so Penny planned to have them deal with the Diviners whilst she, Simon and Shepard focus on the rescue effort.

They make quick work of the initial crowd of Diviners and their sympathisers. Their spellwork was crude and no match for the refined training that Baz, Dev and Niall,taught by none other than the Minotaur himself. He was standing atop a dais in the central courtyard, leading the summoning chant. There was so much blood in the courtyard, the stonewalls covered in ancient runes and twisted talismans, a summoning circle surrounding the Minotaur, all a sick shade of oxidised red.

“With your talent, there is no chance you can bind a dragon of Her power. Stop this bovine idiot,” Baz shouts as he pushes his way into the courtyard proper. His words fall on deaf ears as the Minotaur soldiers on, beckoning for more prisoners to be drained into the courtyard fountain.

_At least I asked nicely_.

And Baz rallies the Inquisitions mages, knowing full well that a mage’s fight is best left to mages. Dev and Niall concentrate on causing maximum disruption, from using **_Clean As A Whistle_** on the of walls and stone floors to erase the runes, to incapacitating Diviners trying to drag screaming prisoners to slit their throats. They cover each other, protect each other, ducking and reaching over each other as Diviners encircle them, slowly inching their way to the raised dais where the Minotaur is casting away.

Baz sends as many spells as he can remember at the Minotaur, who deflects most of them with such ease that infuriates Baz. Unlike Simon, Baz was not above playing dirty, in fact most Tevene duels were won that way, so he casts a heating spell, targeting the Minotaur’s nose ring. He watches the Minotaur stop his chanting and clutch his nose gingerly, yelping at the sudden burn. _That should get his attention_.

“You’ve always been a thorn in my side, you pesky know-it-all,” the Minotaur growls before hurling a barrage of necrotic spells Baz’s way, which he deflects and it splashes onto the stone floor, eating away at the summoning circle.

“I could do this all day, do your worst!”

**SIMON**

While the three Tevene mages clear a path, Simon leads the rescue effort, followed closely by Penny and Shepard and a smaller group of cavalry soldiers and medics. Their boots make sick squelching noises as they run through puddles of blood, cutting down the weaker Diviner mages assigned guard duty. Simon focuses on speed and disengages as quickly as he could so to get to the prisoners, Penny keeps them from following with her ranged spells, letting the troops deal with them as they escort the medics. For those that do break through to them, Shepard punches, slams and otherwise aggressively flails with surprising efficiency and accuracy – a flurry of blows to quickly knock them out.

Once they make it into the wagon cages and cells, the few mages they brought with them, along with Penny spell the locks open and the medics rush in to tend to those in dire need. For those that could move, the troops round them up and start escorting them back out, some even ask to help with the fight, taking whatever weapon available to defend themselves.

All was going according to plan, the Minotaur was sufficiently distracted, and the summoning circle was being dismantled bit by bit. Most importantly, the prisoners were being freed and the end was in sight. Just as they get the last of injured prisoners were loaded onto crude stretchers, a deafening screech floods the skies, and the mages all start hyperventilating.

Simon rushes back out into the courtyard, praying to Merlin and Morgana that the Minotaur didn’t actually succeed in his summoning. Instead of fierce and majestic Dragon Goddess, Simon sees a familiar emaciated form made up of black scales covered in a sickly green sheen and wings that were yellowed with age and lack of care. He stumbles back slightly as the Archdemon Baz and he had vanquished graces the skies again.

* * *

**BAZ**

All magic ceases the second the screech rings out, and he looks up to see the Archdemon, backlit by the moon, circling the Fortress. His stomach drops, the last time he faced off the Archdemon, Simon was with him, and the defenceless Normals were well on their way to shelter.

“This is what your Inquisition wrought, devils and demons from the past, Tiamat was our only chance for safety and you ruined it,” the Minotaur shouts, powerless as the magick drains from around them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Simon emerge alongside Penny and Shepard, taking in the scene in front of them. The troops were making their way through the thinned out Diviners, and thankfully were advancing out of the Fortress faster than Baz had expected. Agatha has joined up with them from the support lines, bringing in reinforcements to apprehend all the mages that were now effectively defenceless and disarmed. He looked back at the Minotaur, trying in vain to pull up magick within him to continue his ritual, thinking that fighting fire with fire was truly the solution. Baz knew what he had to do.

“Snow!” Baz calls, “We need to end this fast!” Without hesitating, Simon runs towards him, and Baz just holds out his hand as he advances towards the Minotaur, thankful that Dev and Niall had cleared the path before the Archdemon showed up. With his staff in one hand, Simon in his other, he gives it a soft squeeze and soon he could feel magick return in him, it wasn’t _his_ magick, but the unfiltered, pure energy from the Fade. His old plan was one of attrition, to exhaust the Minotaur, but the situation has changed, and distractions were no longer going to work. He needs to take the Minotaur out permanently, or at least long enough to be apprehended, whether or not the magick comes back.

His plan shouldn’t work, and Penny would be discouraging it with all her being if she weren’t ducking behind Shepard right now from the blades. But she’s also not fought by Simon like Baz had, and Baz knew Simon achieved the impossible daily. He just prayed that it worked in his favour this time. With his hand holding onto Simon’s in a death grip, he draws as much as Simons willing to give and aligns his staff, targeting the Minotaur’s own. “ ** _Treasure to Trash!_** ” he all but screams. The Minotaur looks in fear as he sees cracks quickly creep up his staff and it shatters in his large hands, his magickal instrument no more than dust to the wind now.

Any thought to celebrate was immediately dashed when the Archdemon descends into the courtyard, breathing an unholy green flame. The two of them dive out of the way of the flames, and right before their eyes, they watch the flames engulf the Minotaur, vaporizing him in an instant.

Simon suddenly drops his hand, remnants of his magick still flowing through Baz, and starts running to the others, darting up the stairs behind them to the ramparts, heading deeper into the Fortress. Penny chases after him immediately, despite Shepard and Agatha’s protests. Then it occurs to Baz as he scrambles to get up, beckoning Dev and Niall to come with him.

_The fucking self-sacrificing numpty, as if we won’t chase after him._

* * *

**SIMON**

_That thing is after me, I have to buy them time. Just like at Mummers_.

His boots pound on the stone as he darts haphazardly through the ramparts of the Fortress, the Archdemon flying after him, and he hears another set of footsteps following behind him. He takes his eyes briefly off the Archdemon and sees Penny running after him.

“Penny go back, they need you down there,” Simon says, seeing the Archdemon soar into the air, preparing for another dive.

“You’d be out of your mind to think we’ll leave you alone to deal with an Archdemon, _again_ ,” catching up to him, “Wait, Simon, look!”

He looks up to see the Archdemon swooping down again, he crouches, preparing to dodge out of the way of the flame, and he sees a figure sitting at the nape of the Archdemon’s neck. The closer the Archdemon got, the clearer the figure was, and Simon was rooted into his spot, not quite believing his eyes.

Sitting atop the Archdemon was _him_ , a sickly, thin, malnourished version of _him_. Sunken eyes, hollowed cheeks, his curls limp and dulled, his eyes were a soulless icy blue.

“ _What if they’re one and the same?_ ”

“Simon!” Penny screeches as she pulls him back from the flames, and as her eyes follow the Archdemon’s form, Simon knows she’s seen him too. The Humdrum – Simon – riding on the back of the Archdemon.

They’re silent, not quite knowing what to say, sitting on the floor, drenched in sweat as the rampart in front of them crumbles from the heat of the flame, sealing off the path.

“Snow!” “Penny!” “Si!” “Idiots!” voices come from a distance, and they look up to see the rest of the Inner Circle running toward them, behind them, an Archdemon and his doppelganger, the Humdrum, in hot pursuit.

“Behind you!” Simon shots as the giant maw of the Archdemon opens again, torching the stone of the ramparts. It was an indiscriminate flame, eating away at the stone, and soon he could feel the floor he’s say on sway.

**BAZ**

_What the fuck are those two doing? Now is not the time to sit down and have a break_.

His feet hurt, his arms were tired and the Humdrum’s general presence was making it difficult for most of them to breathe. As they got closer to Simon, and the Archdemon finishing its fly-by of the ramparts, circling to come back again, he could feel the stone beneath his feet shift, the last round of flames blew a hole in the wall, and now the entire wall was giving way underneath them.

Just as they reach Simon, the entire section of the wall collapses and they were now falling off the rampart.

His mind was racing, he refused to think that the Inquisition’s story ends all because of something a mundane as gravity. There was one spell, only one spell he can think of right now. It required one to be (stupidly) in love and understanding of the Great Vowel Shift. There’s only a small bit of magick left in him from earlier, he channels it all into his staff as he mentally marks off everyone: Simon, Penny, Agatha, Shepard, Dev, Niall and himself.

“ ** _On Love’s Light Wi_** – ” he doesn’t get to finish the spell before being engulfed in a burst of golden light and he hits the ground.

* * *

**PENNY**

Any other day, Penny would hound Baz over casting _“On Love’s Light Wings_ ” as they’re falling to their death. Any other day, Penny would hound Baz over _being in love_ with Simon. But today was not any other day.

Once the golden light subsides, and her eyes adjust to their new surroundings, she immediately sees that all her friends were safe, sprawled on the soft soil. As she gets up, she can feel that something was immediately very wrong. The sky was made up of entirely green hues, occasionally streaks of yellow light dart across the landscape, the horizon was made up of terrain the eye cannot quite identify, curving into itself in a way that defied nature.

“Are we – ” Agatha stutters out at the same time as Niall asks “Is this – ”

“We crossed the Veil,” Penny snaps her head around to look at Simon, helping Baz up, “We’re in the Fade.”

_Well, shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now that they're in the Fade...Who would they meet if there's no Veil? 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it and are having a lovely weekend x
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated :) 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	18. Here Lies The Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wishing but wondering, wounded and wistful What if he doesn’t want me after? And indeed, who would want you after, Tyrannus?”

**SIMON**

He was on the verge of tears. He didn’t know what he was doing, they were all falling off the rampart, and he panicked so he just reached out, hoping for something to break their fall. Landing in the Fade was not part of that plan, it’s not part of _any_ plan and now he’s even more panicked than they were falling. Shepard was currently emptying his stomach to the side, and Simon has half a mind to join him. The others looked queasy but stomach the overwhelming magick in the air.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t. I wasn’t thinking, I –” he babbles on, pulling at his hair. Baz slowly puts an arm around his shoulder, soothing him and telling him to breathe. It calms him enough to at least appreciate his friends were all safe and unharmed. All thoughts of the Archdemon were replaced with uncertainty and fear of being in the literal Fade.

Gathering himself, slapping on what he hopes is a brave face, he looks up to survey the Fade. It was murky, green and haunting. There were small pieces of ash floating upward, despite there being no wind. It was too cold and too warm at the same time, any sense of direction lost in the warping architecture and terrain. One thing does stand out to him on the horizon, a beacon of light, emitting the same golden light as his Mark a top a hill of some sort.

“At least the Mage’s Men were right about one thing,” Baz says, earning a hollow laugh from Penny, “Are you alright?” he says softly to Simon, who barely manages a nod.

“Let’s head over there,” Simon says, pointing toward the beacon. Given that none of them knew what was up and down anymore, and no one could tell east to west, they follow Simon wordlessly, making their way toward the golden pillar of light.

Dev was holding onto Niall, leaning on each other. Shepard, clearly handling this the worst, had his arms on Penny and Agathat’s shoulders, awkward shuffling behind Simon and Baz who were taking point. So far, everything looked the same, rocks and crumbling structures covered in a wet green film, as if it were being preserved in a state of eternal decay.

“Does any of this look familiar to…anyone?” Shepard says, pointing up at what’s left of an arch. If Simon squinted, he could swear that the relief was done in a Ferelden style, but the what’s left of the sunburst at the apex was distorted.

“It’s a Tevene sunburst, decorated with Ferelden imagery,” Baz says, moving closer to it, “A lot of the older temples back home have these, before Ferelden fought for its independence against Tevinter.” _So it’s really old then_.

The group continues moving forward, or what they think is forward when a sinister laugh fills the air, making the hairs on Simon’s neck stand up. It was the kind of laugh you’d imagine in your darkest nightmares, drumming up the fear that Simon’s done quite well to force down.

“Well, well, well,” the deep, menacing voice says, “look what we have here.”

“Did you all hear that?” Agatha says, her voice shaking.

“Ah. The beautiful prize to be won, the maiden to be rescued. How does playing pretend feel? I wonder which suitor will show up to save you from this and bind you to a life of bitter complacency?” the voice says and her face drops.

“Don’t listen to it,” Penny says.

“Oh but the mind is such a fragile thing Penelope. Look at your brother, a pathetic excuse of a broken man, beyond the help of even Merlin himself. Did you really want him to live so he could repent? Or that you are a coward, a small little girl who just wants a brother to run back to?”

Simon looks at Penny, her fists balled together, the ring on her finger flashing its signature purple glow.

“Whatever you are, shut up or come out and face us. You’re the coward,” Dev shouts brandishing his broadsword.

“A strong bark this one has. Everyone needs a favourite little minion. Isn’t it grim, Grimm? That not even your father believes you’ll amount to anything but second to our little Tyrannus.”

“Oh it jokes.”

“Not as funny as you are O’Beirne. You turned your back on country and home, for what? Love? To make a difference? You couldn't even change your parents mind on your future, so run along now and resign yourself to a meaningless existence. Invisible and expendable.”

Baz was fuming, and sends a fireball into the sky, the void that was the Fade.

“Tough one, aren’t you? But there’s something there…such desperate loneliness. Wishing but wondering, wounded and wistful What if he doesn’t want me after?” Baz volleys another in his rage, “And indeed, who would want you after, Tyrannus?”

“Baz, I – ” Simon starts, interrupted when the voice turns its attention to him.

“Our saviour. Sitting on a imagined throne in his little keep. A pretender. Holding onto a power that isn’t even his. A false Herald, all the better to lead the world to ruin. You were nothing then, you are nothing now. Not to anyone, not ever.”

“Look, as much as I’m enjoying you baring everyone’s heart and soul on their behalf. We have places to be, things to do. So if you’ll just kindly fuck right off,” Shepard says, who manages to say exactly what everyone was thinking, despite his weakened constitution.

“Interesting one aren’t you…how strange,” the voice says. Then nothing else come and Simon thinks the voice heeded Shepad’s words and truly “fucked off.”

They all collectively turn to Shepard, shocked that the single non-magickal person managed to get the demonic voice to stop, “Can’t be afraid if you live your life only until the next minute,” he manages weakly before pushing Penny and Agatha out of the way to vomit again.

Drowned out by Shepard’s heaving, Simon almost misses the scuttling, but soon, several dozens of spiders were on them. It was an undignified scream, but given that Penny does so at the same time, Simon feels less embarrassed by it. Baz just leaps into action, burning the disgusting things whilst Niall does the same thing, swatting at the air at the same time.

“Fucking spiders,” Simon says, as he draws his sword and ignores the sensation of their furry little legs climbing onto him.

“Snakes you mean?” Agatha says, flicking her wand, and sending spiders flying onto the fallen pillars.

“They’re bees,” Niall shrieks, darting to and fro letting out short bursts of lightning magick, as if to fry the spiders.

Soon all the spiders were dead and disintegrating into the air and Simon was ready to get out of this cursed place. He’s still scratching at his limbs, praying that nothing actually touched him.

“It’s Fear,” Penny says, “That was a Fear demon. It sent things that were most afraid off.”

“So everything it was saying…” Agatha trails off.

“Good thing none of us know what the Humdrum looks like then, that would’ve been fun,” Dev deadpans. Simon shifts around uncomfortably; pointedly ignoring the looks Penny was shooting him.

“Let’s just…keep going,” he orders, if Baz noticed his change in tone, he doesn’t say anything, trailing behind him. The rest follow in silence, all of them trying to shake off the things they’ve heard from Fear. It was unnatural, the way the demon had tapped into their deepest insecurities, and threw it at their faces, as if those intimate thoughts didn’t matter, as if _they_ didn’t matter.

After a short climb, they reach the entrance of a courtyard, the layout reminds Simon of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but it couldn’t be, he tells himself – they were in the Fade, and not anywhere near the Frostback Mountain.

“Little Puff,” a woman’s voice sings, it was gentle, pained and Baz freezes beside him.

**BAZ**

_It couldn't be…_

He pushes past Simon and follows the voice coming from the courtyard. And there she was, glimmering in the same colours of his magick, Baz refused to believe it. It had to be a spirit.

“You’re _not_ her,” he gets out through clenched teeth, Dev’s hand coming to his shoulder, “What are you?”

“Indeed, I am not. But I carry her words, her feelings, her love for you, Basilton,” the spirit says, a vague and ethereal being, the suggestion of a woman, outlined by a soft red glow, just like Baz’s magick. “She says to speak to Nico, he knows the truth.”

He wants to ask for more, he wants to speak to his mother again, even if it wasn’t her. He’s been so focused on finding her murderer he didn’t stop to think he’ll never hear her voice again. What follows wasn’t more words or vague instructions from the spirit, but the same sinister laugh from Fear.

He can see it now, a dark mist made up of anguished screams and groans of those trapped in an eternal nightmare. It was advancing on them, consuming the toppled pillars, archways and other debris that littered their path.

“You must run, her last wishes was for you to be safe, Basilton,” the spirit urges before vanishing.

They hurry ahead as Fear consumes more of the ruin, the winds pick up but they push ahead. Simon walks as if he knows the space, leading them through the collapsing ruin into a hall, at the end of the room were the remains of the Sunburst Throne. They were standing in the ruins of Temple of Sacred Ashes, in the Fade.

_None of this makes any sense._

**SIMON**

“Simon,” the spirit reappears in front of him, reaching out to hold his hand, “When you entered here the first time, you took something from the Fade, and you have left an imprint here. It’s coming to claim back what was once theirs.”

“What did I take?”

“It’s time you remembered Simon.”

Then suddenly a scene plays out in front of them.

Natasha Pitch is hurt, gravely so, and Baz is shaking. In front of her stands a man in a green hood, “It will never work Davy, you’ll destroy what’s left of this world.”

“The Veil must come down, and it will be by your hand, your power and link to the Fade that will help me tear it down,” the hooded man says.

He brings out an orb, a wand already at Natasha’s throat, and an eerie yellow glow emits from it. Baz’s eyes widen as he watches his mother age rapidly, as if the orb was sucking away her life, turning her grey, wrinkled and frail.

“Help, someone, anyone!” she shouts

Baz moves to stop the man, to answer her mother’s wishes – as if he could turn back time and prevent this from happening – however someone bursting through the door stops him in his tracks. A head of golden curls and plain blue eyes, bleeding from his temples and drawing in haggard breaths.

“Your Grace.”

“Simon,” Natasha says, “Take care of my boy.” Her voice cracks, before she grits out “now go!” And she launches herself onto the man, throwing him off balance and the glowing orb dislodged from his hand, before slumping to the ground, her youth, her energy stolen and locked in the orb.

It rolls towards Simon, who limps ahead to grab it before the hooded figure could. As he watches his past self struggle with the orb, Simon feels his own arm flare up, a familiar searing pain as he watches his past self be consumed by the orb. The hooded man shouts “What have you done, Simon?” And the room goes bright white, revealing the hall as how they found it.

Simon didn’t know what to make of what he just saw, none of them did. He looks towards Baz, his face contorted into a mix of pain, anger and unprecedented grief. Natasha Pitch’s singular instruction to him was to keep Baz safe, he hopes she can rest peacefully knowing that Simon would guard over Baz until his last breath if he had to. It’s the only he could hope for, as guilt consumes him.

“I did this. I killed her,” Simon mumbles.

“You didn’t kill her Simon. You tried to save her,” Baz said firmly, “That man did, Davy.”

“It wasn’t some Golden Destiny, it wasn’t Merlin, Morgana or whoever the fuck is out there. I’m a fraud,” tears welling up in his eyes as he looks towards his friends, the friends that put their lives in his hands again and again, all for a false Herald who was nothing but an accident.

_I’m not anything they need me to be._

There was a commotion coming from outside, Fear was closing in on them.

“Whatever that was, we have to get out of here,” Dev says grabbing onto Baz’s arm, pulling him forward. Shepard nods enthusiastically, as he hobbles along, supported by Niall and Penny and looking paler than when they first entered the Fade.

Agatha approaches Simon, delicately reaching his shoulder “We’ll think about this later, now we carry on. Please, Simon.”

What _really_ shakes Simon out of his reverie is Fear blasting through the walls of the Great Hall.

Simon’s good at nothing thinking about things – great at it, even. So he pushes his thoughts about his alleged Golden Destiny aside and focus on the one thing that he should be doing – getting everyone out. He retraces his steps, the ones the spirits have guided him on when he first received his Mark. They reach the foot of a slope of fallen pillars and stairs, arriving at the foot of golden beacon, which is not much more than a portal in an archway.

“This got me out last time, they showed me,” he ushering his friends, “Come on!”

They hurry up and through as Fear gains on them, sending a storm of bats and beholders after them. Penny, Shepard and Niall goes through first and Dev is quick to follow then Agatha.

Baz grabs onto Simon’s arm dragging him closer to the portal as he fends off the lesser demons.

“Simon we have to go now,” he says, they’re almost at the portal when they both hear a voice.

“My rosebud boy,” they whip their heads around and sees a spirit – was it the same one that carried Natasha Pitch’s words? “I would have never let you go,” it says, ignorant of Fear engulfing her.

“Baz, your mother has something else to say,” Simon protests, “She’s gone because of me, and I won’t take hear her last words from you!”

Baz turns back around to the spirit, who’s now just repeating those same words – she had a beautiful golden glow to her, like that of the sun. “That’s not my mother Simon,” Baz says with a tremble in his voice, and before Simon could argue, he slams into Simon making them fall through the portal.

* * *

**BAZ**

They land back in the courtyard, on the dais at the Fortress, a sense of relief washes over him when he realises they’re not back at the Temple. The battle was pretty much over, the Humdrum and the Archdemon were no where in sight., and the Diviners lost without their leader Baz realised that Simon broke his tumble, landing squarely on top of his armoured torso. _He’s here, I’m here. We’re all here, and safe. That’s all that matters right now_.

Baz studied Simon’s face, watching his brows knit together from confusion over the spirit they saw. He knew he had to wait for things to fall into place – because despite being the singular hope of the world, Simon had his own unique way of processing his thoughts. He waits for the pieces to fall together in Simon’s head, and gives an affirming nod when Simon looks up at him, eyes widening from the realisation.

“That was…” he splutters.

“I think so too,” Baz whispers.

There were a million things to sort out from dealing with the remaining Diviners to relocating and housing the refugees, but right now, Baz knew had to focus on Simon, so he stayed there, holding onto Simon’s hand, grounding him into this very real reality they live in.

Not the Fade, not some Golden Destiny, just here, just them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wishing but wondering, wounded and wistful What if he doesn’t want me after?” is one of my favourite quotes from the game, but when Cole said it, it was optimistic, joyful but I couldn't resist bringing it up here!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! We're inching toward the end!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated xx
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	19. I Hate Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hated sand. It’s coarse, dry and it gets everywhere.

**SIMON**

They were all shaken from the things the learned from the Fade. Before, they were a force, a group, ordained by the powers that be to save Thedas, and Simon was their leader. Marked by Merlin and Morgana to close the Breach in the sky, to lead Thedas to salvation and restore order to the world. The Inquisition was formed on the basis of needing answers, clarity, reason for the way the world was.

Now that they have those answers, it doesn’t make anything clearer, in fact it throws everything they knew about their cause out the window. When they get back to Watford, they scurry into the War Room, locking themselves in there. The leaders of the Inquisition couldn’t be seen to be unsure, not when so many others have turned to them for safety. They had to be the single steady thing that was keeping the world propped up.

Penny was the first one to speak up, echoing the words she had said to him back in that camp atop the Frostback Mountain, “It doesn’t matter whether or not Simon is really the Chosen One, or _a_ Chosen One. The people have chosen.”

“I agree,” Dev says, “Whatever we saw, it doesn’t change a thing Simon. You’ll still have us, no matter where this leads.”

“You all still…still believe this?” he asks, not quite believing his ears.

“Of course we do, how many times have you jumped into the thick of it without question? So that Normals could sleep sounder at night?” Niall asks.

“But I had to, it’s not like anyone else could…”

“Si, you could’ve gone the entire different way. Look at the Mage’s Men, the Diviners. You could’ve gone with either of those lunatics. But you didn’t, no matter the power you wield, you stuck with your gut,” Shepard says.

“Everything you’ve done until now, from that first day at the Temple to this moment was you. You made it possible. The Inquisition has relied on nothing but your singular talent for _good_ ,” Baz adds.

“But everyone else…what do we tell them?” Simon pleads, he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to realise that he’s exactly as Fear said – a false Herald.

“We tell them nothing,” Agatha says firmly, “Entering the Fade is unheard of, no one even really knows if it’s a place you _could_ visit. No one _needs_ to know that.”

“Isn’t that just lying?”

“You might not have had Merlin and Morgana descend from the heavens to appoint you, but out of every soldier posted at the Temple, you were the one to come to my mother, the one to pick up a questionable magickal item,” Baz says, crossing the room to hold him.

“Let us believe in you.”

* * *

**BAZ**

Simon has made an art form for compartmentalising. After the events in the Fade, and all of us reassuring him that nothing has impacted our judgment of him, he seemed to accept it. In other words, he pushes it out of his mind, welcoming any distraction. So when Agatha suggests that we investigate some reports of Rifts in the Hissing Waste he jumps at the chance.

Owing to Baz’s persistence and the fact that they share a bedchamber now, he is only member of the Inner Circle to join him on the mission. If Simon really wanted to shut them all out, he’d have to spell Baz into the ground before he’d let that happen. As it so happens, Simon couldn’t cast a single spell.

Frankly, Baz was not excited about the mission, he hates deserts with a passion – the Western Approach has not endeared itself after recent events. The Hissing Waste was another barren desert dotted with little more than smooth rock. As they were leaving, he complains as much to Penny.

“But anything for love, right?” she teased, “On Love’s Light Wings? Really didn’t think I’d catch on?” Baz doesn’t even deny it, or fight the blush creeping up to his cheeks. He was in love with Simon and it wasn’t exactly secret to anyone. Maybe to the man himself, but where Simon is observant in battle, he’s painfully obtuse when it came to them.

* * *

**SIMON**

After what they’ve been through, the Rifts posed little trouble, especially when Simon takes it upon himself to take up most of the fight, he had to prove to everyone, if not himself, that he was still good for something. No matter what destiny has lined up for him, he can do the bare minimum of killing demons and closing Rifts.

Even though it didn’t take long to close the Rifts, it gave them something to do, something for _him_ to do and not think about it. Since leaving the Fade, he can’t help but feel like he’s wearing someone else’s skin. Once upon a time, the Inquisitor and Simon were indistinguishable people, but now, Simon couldn’t feel more distant from his role. To have been built up by everyone around him, to then learn that none of it was true, it stung. He’s pushed these thoughts away for the most part, trying instead to hold onto what his friends have been telling him, that their faith was unshaken and the Inquisition was still real, that _he_ was still real.

He knows that Baz still thinks he chosen somehow, but Simon was stubborn. He wishes Baz’s words were enough to convince him that there was nothing to prove. Then again, he always has, even when he used to say he was the worst Chosen One to ever be chosen, the belief that it was somehow destined was there.

And so he tosses and turns in his tent. He couldn’t sleep, every time he closed his eyes, he just imagines the look of disappointment from everyone, for failing at doing something he was apparently never meant to be doing anyway. Eventually he gives up even trying to sleep and sits by the campfire, the remains of the embers giving off an orange glow, contrasting sharply against the sand dunes awash in moonlight.

The robes he was wearing, the Inquisition flag flying high in the desert wind, his damn titles, they weren’t his to have, let alone keep. He doesn’t know how long he sits there alone, staring off into the vast expanse, occasionally looking up at the stars, recalling how he and Baz once soared through the skies together for a brief beautiful moment.

**BAZ**

No matter how many times Simon tries, he will never be gentle on his feet, he stomps and clambers. Even here, treading on sand, Simon manages to make a show of it. So, despite his body protesting, Baz climbs out of his own tent and sees Simon’s hunched form, staring off into the distance.

_He’ll be the death of me one day, I just know it_.

Baz drops himself next to Simon and waits for him to find the words. Or at least he tries, but the sharp temperature drop in the Hissing Waste left him shuffling into himself, to conserve his body heat. Simon just looks at him, attempting (the operative word) to raise an eyebrow at him. _I’m allowed to tell him he’s adorable now when he does that_.

“You look ridiculous Simon, and it’s cold. I’m cold,” he says, because of course he does.

“We’re literally in a desert.”

“And there’s no sun, or did you forget that because everything revolves around _you_ these days?” Baz huffs as he tries to will the breeze to stop. That’s when Simon drapes an arm around him and pulls him closer. During the day, Simon was like a furnace, especially in the desert heat, but now at night, with no fire to keep them warm, Baz welcomed it. In fact, it even makes spending the night in this forsaken desert somewhat tolerable.

“What if it’s true, what if I…this, all of this, isn’t enough?” Simon says, staring into the sky. _I guess he found his words_.

“Then we’ll make do. And that’s the best we can do,” Baz says, “Even if we crack, if you crack, shouldering the weight of the world, then at least we would’ve died trying.”

“Until the bitter end, right?” Simon says emptily.

And they sit there, letting the sounds of the Hissing Waste fill their silence. Baz didn’t pay much thought to the end, to the future, because his father was correct. There was a very good chance none of them will live through this, as is often the case when it came to world saving efforts.

“I do by the way,” Simon suddenly says.

“What?”

“Wishing but wondering, wounded and wistful. What if he doesn't want me after?” he quotes, and Baz’s heart jumps into his throat, “I do. I want this, I want us, to have an after.”

Baz looks up at him through his lashes, and he sees that it’s the first time all day Simon has smiled. He leans upwards to kiss him, pulling his hands out from his sleeves to cradle Simon’s neck, gently combing through the curls at the nape of his neck. Their kisses were soft, cautious, tentative, afraid of waking the desert.

As romantic as it was, Baz wasn’t joking about his hatred for the desert. He hated sand. It’s coarse, dry and it gets everywhere. Apparently he was fidgeting so much that Simon stops kissing him to chuckle and because Baz had no dignity left in him, he just pouts. It also spurs Simon’s laughing on. Wordlessly he extends a hand toward Baz, pulling him up and leading him back to his tent.

There will be questions in the morning – the Tevinter Mage climing into the bed of the Inquisitor. What would the Old Families think? How would Thedas react to their relationship? Baz couldn’t find a fibre of his being to care, not with Simon next to him.

That night he sleeps without nightmares for the first time since they left the Fade, dreaming of their after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone still believes in Simon, now when will our boy believe in himself? 
> 
> Also, Baz being a whiny Sith Lord is an AU I need, but lack the talent to produce.
> 
> Hope you guys liked it!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated x 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	20. What We (Don't) Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In times like this, Penny liked to go back to the basics, and so that morning in the War Room, she draws up two lists – What We Know and What We Don’t Know.

**PENNY**

To say the Inquisition has been in better shape was an understatement. Whilst before they had vague ideas of the Humdrum and _his_ magickal draining ability, that the Mage’s Men wanted to tear down the Veil, and the Diviners thinking Simon was going to kill all of them, they were isolated actors – products of chaos and uncertainty. Learning that they were all somehow connected somehow through a vague Prophecy, and now literal divine intervention, the Inner Circle was understandably a bit lost.

In times like this, Penny liked to go back to the basics, and so that morning in the War Room, she draws up two lists – What We Know and What We Don’t Know.

What We Know:

  * The Humdrum is alive and well.
  * So is his Archdemon
  * There have been no further Rifts
  * Nico knows the truth
  * Simon is Chosen, if not by Merlin and Morgana, then by the universe. Somehow.



Baz added the last point in, and no one could really disagree on it. Be it providence or not, Simon was exactly what the world needed when they needed him most. And Penny could accept that while it _may_ have been an accident Simon becoming bearer of the Mark, he has shown himself to be the Inquisitor as the world knows him to be.

What We Don’t Know:

  * Who is Nico?
  * Who is Davy?



“We also don’t know what the Humdrum is,” Shepard adds, and Penny sees Simon pick at his cuticles.

They’ve not really had the chance to talk about it yet. While she’d like to think she may have been mistaken given that there was a bloody Archdemon breathing fire at the time, the fact that Simon avoids the conversation tells her all she needs to know. She was moving to add it to the list when Simon speaks up.

“Actually. We do know that,” he says quietly, and they all turn to him. His eyes flicker to Penny and she gives him a soft nod, “The Humdrum is me.”

_Not how I’d start off Simon. For Morgana’s sake_. And naturally, the rest of them gasp, because, how can they not be shocked that the lynchpin of their entire cause just admitted to being some unknown entity that summons Archdemons to terrorise the world.

“Simon, I think there’s a more…accurate way of putting it,” Penny encourages.

“Well…The Humdrum has my face. He looks like me. At least now we know it’s a he, or at least I think so. Either way, the Humdrum looks like me,” Simon rambles on. However, the distinction does make everyone relax a bit, which in turn, calms Penny down.

“He does, but also doesn’t,” Penny says, “The Humdrum looks ill, underfed, starving, like how the Archdemon doesn’t look like a healthy dragon.”

“So he looks like Si, but malnourished?” Shepard asks and Simon nods.

“Is that why it sucks out all the magic in the air, like it’s feeding itself?” Agatha thinks aloud.

_“You took something from the Fade. It’s come to claim back what was once theirs”. Of course!_

Penny kicks herself for not connecting the dots earlier, “It’s what Simon took from the Fade. His Mark. The Humdrum is an imprint of what he took from the Fade, a Simon-shaped hole. So that’s why wherever he goes, he tries to take back as much as possible.”

“That would mean, that the Diviners were right, I –”

“No it doesn’t Simon, you may be linked, but you’re not the cause. That orb you picked up, the one that was … used on Natasha Pitch, _that’s_ the cause,” Penny says, “Whoever picked it up, the Humdrum would have manifested. So it could have been that Davy, the one with the hood.”

“That only answers half the question. If he’s starving, why isn’t he tearing more Rifts and eating more. Reports fluctuate so much as to when they appear. You’d think he’d feed himself first before summoning the Archdemon,” Dev says.

With no answers, Penny adds onto their list

What We Don’t Know:

  * Who is Nico?
  * Who is Davy?
  * Why is the Humdrum inconsistent?



Baz has been uncharacteristically quiet throughout this entire exchange, usually he’d be the most talkative one, challenging Penny, probing her to think harder, delve deeper. It was mutually beneficial, and she would definitely appreciate his input on this. But for some reason he was fixated on the Map, as if he was trying to pick out a pattern to the randomness of it all.

**BAZ**

The Humdrum wasn’t acting on impulse. It clearly wants something, they way he was chasing after Simon on the Archdemon, but never going in for the kill – it would’ve been easy to quash them. He also disappeared after they fell into the Fade, and he’s made no attempt on Watford Keep. They’re not exactly difficult to find, especially if you take to the skies, so no, the Humdrum had to be acting consciously, endangering Simon but never actually going for the kill shot.

The more he looks at the Map, the more he believes there’s a pattern, but it might be him making something out of nothing, until he finds the token for the Emerald Graves, and noticed how the Rifts at the Emprise Du Lion looked as if the radiated from the Emerald Graves.

“Bunce help me with this,” he says, “Add a pin for every single Rift we’ve closed. Wellbelove, grab your records and trace the dates the reports came in for the Rifts.” Bunce looks like she’s trying to figure what he’s trying to get at but doesn’t ask. Together, they approximate the locations of each Rift, and soon a pattern emerge, once it’s all been colour coded. The Rifts did radiate from each other, but some of the dates Agatha was rattling didn’t match up. There were several examples where closing a Rift in one region didn’t cause several more to spring up.

Baz was close to pulling his hair out. _There must be something I’m missing. Fuck_. He feels Simon’s hand clasp one of his own, trying to get him to stop yanking at the poor hairs at the nape of his neck. He hovers over the Map, studying the pattern, his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth, his eyes darting across Thedas.

**SIMON**

“Agatha, which came first, Emerald Graves or Emprise du Lion?” he asks,

“Emerald Graves, then Emprise du Lion, then the Exalted Plains. All within a week of each other.”

“But nothing came after the Storm Coast?” his free hand tracing the coastline.

“Nothing at all, but those ones only came in after you got back from Crestwood.”

_And the newest ones, at the Hissing Waste, came after Adamant…when I opened a Rift myself._

“What are you getting at Snow?”

“It’s when I go off. That’s when the new Rifts appear.”

With that comment they all lunge toward the Table, and he knew was right. Every instance that he went off, Rifts would open later. Which would explain why the Humdrum never actually tried to kill Simon, because that was the only way he’ll get fed. The one way for the Fade to get back what was theirs.

“What about the Hissing Waste – you didn’t go off at Adamant,” Dev points out.

“He very literally opened a Rift with his damn hand. I think that’d require just as much magick,” Niall responds.

“A mirrored existence, the Humdrum is your reflection,” Baz mutters, “You are prophesised after all, Simon.”

“It sounds like a self-fulfilling one,” Simon mumbles, he wasn’t sure if what Baz said was meant to make him feel better.

“But aren’t all Prophecies?” Niall chimes in, “You became the Herald, and then the Inquisitor because we all believed you were chosen, so that’s what lead to all of this. Had Penny not believed it, she probably would’ve just offed you and that’d be it. There’d be nothing to feed the Humdrum, so no one to bring the fall to magick, or bring down his fall.”

“Simon, you are both the problem and the solution. You absolute nightmare,” he teases fondly. That does make Simon feel better, there was at least something he can do without causing more harm to the world. At this point, he’d accept any chance to right what had gone wrong – whoever’s fault it was.

“There’s something else here,” Shepard suddenly pipes up, “if you look at the Map, there are no Rifts in the Wavering Wood, and that’s even with the Emerald Graves right next to it.”

Simon turns his attention back to the Map, and Shepard was right, no matter how many Rifts opened, regardless of location, the Wavering Wood was untouched, unwavering in these turbulent times.

“ _The Woods, you see, they’re special, they protect me, and in turn, we protect it.”_

“Ebb, the goat herder, she said the Woods were protected, they’re special,” Simon says.

“The loopy lady?” Agatha says, “Of course she’d say the Woods are protected.”

“She’s no ordinary goat herder,” Baz retorts, and Simon eyes him curiously, “Simon, remember how you were about to get taken out by that shade demon when you were closing Rift at Mummers?” Simon vaguely remembers it, and how Baz stormed off when he tried to thank him. _Oh look how far we’ve come_.

“The lightning strike, you thanked me for it.”

_Oh so you did hear, you were just a rude prat._

“It wasn’t me. It was her. The goat herder.”

_Oh_.

“I think it’s time we took a visit to the Wavering Wood eh? I’ve never been, and could do with … this,” Shepard says, gesturing at all of them, “as an entourage.”

Penny smacks the back of his head, but Simon can’t help but feel he’s right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pieces come together...here we are folks, we are nearing the end!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated xx
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	21. The Truth Will Set You Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We will stand with you, Inquisitor.

**SIMON**

The scouts Niall sent ahead to the Wavering Wood had come back with empty reports, but nonetheless, Simon insisted on investigating himself. He’s not sure what he’ll find, but something in his gut was telling him that he had to come here – that somewhere in these Woods, there’d be answers to why they remained unaffected by the Breach, by the Humdrum, by the Rifts.

He had asked Dev and Niall to stay behind, to prepare the troops to mobilise should the situation call for it. Agatha stayed behind as well, crafting up letters to explain the events of Adamant with half-truths and careful avoidance of any mention of the Fade. Simon hopes her words are capable of convincing Orlais and the Coven. And so accompanying him today was Baz, Penny and Shepard, arguably the best combination of people for knowledge and conversation.

It wasn’t long into their journey into the Woods that Simon hears faint bleeting in the distance, so naturally he runs after it. Sure enough, through the brush and thicket of the Woods, there was a clearing filled with goats, and in the middle, the familiar form of Ebb. Gentle god rays surround her as if she really were the Guardian of the Wood.

“Ebb!” Simon calls out, waving his hand, slowly weaving his way through the sea of goats who were entirely unbothered by his presence.

“Simon, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” she replies, “What are you doing in the Woods?”

“We were just exploring, we’ve never been into the Woods, so we figured, why not?” Simon says. It was true, mostly, it’s not like they knew what they were looking for, just that they were looking for _something_.

The rest of them catch up with him, Baz looking less than pleased that Shepard’s petting the goats. He had said they were a menace and got in his way last time, and they were now crowding around them.

“Well since you’re all here, can I interest in a cup of tea?” Ebb asks, rounding the goats up away from Baz, and Simon chuckles at the scowl on his face.

* * *

It was a quaint little cottage in the heart of the Wavering Woods, plenty of space for the goats, a charming little vegetable patch. It was idyllic, simple and perfect for someone like Ebb. As they got closer, Simon sees another figure tending to the vegetables. He was the splitting image of Ebb, but listless and peaceful – almost otherworldly.

“How are you doing Nico?” Ebb says as she ushers them into the cottage. Every one freezes in their tracks and looks at the man. _Is this him?_ “C’mon you lot, in you go. It’s rude to stare,” Ebb says defensively. They all take slower steps, turning their eyes back to Nico, who continues his garden work with no mind to engage with them.

They settle in the simple sitting room, little by way of furniture, but plenty of personal touches that made it feel like a home. _Maybe my tastes are a bit austere_. Ebb busies herself with tea and biscuits whilst the rest of share uneasy glances at each other, all painful aware that behind the doors, the answers to Natasha Pitch’s murder, the explosion for the Conclave, the Breach in the sky, was sitting planting seeds. They were stiff, buzzing with energy and questions.

“Here you go,” Ebb says as she sets down a tray, and she eyes at their stiff posture and general quiet, “Is this about Nico?”

“Yes! No, um,” Simon stammers, “We’re…we’re just curious about him,” he settles on that. He couldn’t exactly tell her why Nico was interesting to them, not without giving away the fact that they were in the Fade, and the spirit of the very dead Natasha Pitch clued them in. _Shepard could probably fashion up an excuse_.

“About him?” Ebb says, eyeing the group, Simon hopes his blunders come off as keen curiosity rather than prying, “Well I guess you don’t see people like him very often.”

“People like him?” Shepard says, Baz on the edge of his seat.

“Tranquil,” Ebb says, sniffling, “Nico’s made some bad calls, but he’s better now.” None of them quite knew what to do or say with this new information. It does at least explain why he looked so at peace, abnormally calm. Simon knew Tranquillity usually lead to muted emotions and sedated existence, but it wasn’t until he saw Nico that he understood how it actually looked like. _It would’ve killed Premal_.

“Tranquillity is not a light sentence,” Baz says, “What did he do?” _Direct as ever. The woman is crying Baz_.

Ebb pulls the sleeves of one of her many cardigans and starts wiping away her tears and sniffles, and Shepard looks about ready to tell her to take her time, but she seemed fine to continue, “He was caught in Tevinter doing some dark magick. He never told me the details, said he didn’t want to implicate me. All I know was that he was chasing immortality. But the Magisterium ordered for Tranquillity when they found out, the sentence was suggested by Natasha Pitch.”

If the room wasn’t tense before, it definitely was now. Not only was this man named by Natasha Pitch, she had taken from him what it means to be a mage, to be a whole person. Even Shepard’s eternal optimism and talent for conversation is stuck looking for something to say. Recovering from the shock, Baz leans forward to take a cup and biscuit off the tray, pretending nothing was wrong. How Baz presents himself in public, and how he presents himself to Simon in the privacy of his bedchamber atop Watford never gets less jarring for him.

Suddenly the door opens and in steps the man himself. Ebb was tall, but Nico was even taller, making even Baz and Shepard look of average height. They had the same wild hair, facial features, but his eyes lack that spark of life and warmth that Ebb had. Simon wonders how much of Nico there is left in that body, because if what they say about Tranquillity was true, there was at most, half a man.

“What you all yapping about,” his voice is gruffy, coarse, but it had so little personality in it, “Oh Ebb are you crying again?”

“We didn’t m – ” Penny starts before Ebb interrupts her.

“There’s nothing wrong with having a cry. You didn’t cry enough before,” she say blowing her nose.

“You cry enough for the both of us,” he replies. _So maybe he is still in there somewhere, distant, but not disconnected_.

“They were curious about you, it’s not like they meet a Tranquil every day. Could I get you a tea?”

“I’m fine Ebb, water would be nice,” he says as she ducks into the kitchen, “So what do you want to know, which one of you looking to become Tranquil, because, don’t,” turning around to face them. His eyes linger on Simon, it’s the most expression he’s shown since they’ve arrived, like he was trying to place Simon.

“We’re not here … about that,” Penny says shakily.

“We’re here because of Natasha Pitch,” Baz says.

“I heard she was died along with the rest of that lot at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, can’t say I’m upset. Then again, I probably don’t know what upset looked like if it kicked me in the face,” he says. If there was an attempt at sarcasm, it was lost on Simon. “What do you know about the events at the Temple?”

“And do you happen to know someone named Davy?” Shepard chimes in.

“I was wondering when that’d come back to haunt me,” Nico mumbles after a lon pause.

“What’s haunting you?” Ebb says coming back into the room with a cup of water.

“Davy.”

“The Dread Mage?” Ebb says, brows shooting up her forehead.

“So do you know him?” Simon says, leaning forward, looking more towards Ebb than Nico.

“Yeah we do,” Nico says, “I’ve not spoken to him in a long time, not since he went off the deep end.” _Well he’s definitely crazy for blowing up the Conclave, so it might be the same guy._

“I’m sorry, but did you call him the Dread Mage?” Penny sits up as well.

“Well, he called himself The Mage. We called him The Dread Mage, radical in his ideas and so pessimistic,” Ebb said.

Nico turns to Simon, “Look if you’re with his kind,” he nods his head at Baz who looked as if his control was slowly slipping, “I’m not talking. I’m not fucking things up for Ebb as well.”

“We just want to find out what happened, no one has to know where you are, or even _who_ you are,” Simon reassures.

“What did he ask from you?” Baz manages to say through his scowl that Simon was pretty sure he’s not bothering to hide anymore.

“Who are you people?” he asks, “Seem awfully interested in all of this.”

“They’re the Inquisition Nico, the ones taking care of the Breach in the sky,” Ebb says having calmed down once more, “They’re good people.” She was looking at Simon now, wearing that same expression that Nico had. He wasn’t sure why she’d be confused about who he was, they’d met before and clearly she still remembers.

“He once asked me, a long time ago, what’d it take to tear down the Veil. Wanting to bring magick back to the world, to bring back the Golden City,” Baz and Penny’s eyes widen at the words, “I told him I wanted nothing to do with anymore of that. He even said it’ll give me my magick back, but I couldn't risk Ebb’s safety,” he explains.

“He killed my mother,” Baz suddenly says, “That day, he had an orb, it took from her. It took everything from her, and then the explosion happened.”

“And that’s why there’s a hole in the sky?” Nico chuckles, “Mad man. There’s no proof that tearing down the Veil would bring magick into the world.” After a pause, he continues, “You’re Pitch’s kid? Figures she’d be dead and still hunt me down like a dog. No offense to you, but you can’t exactly blame me,” he says gesturing to his person.

“None taken, but if you can answer the question?” Baz demands.

“I don’t know what orb you saw, but if you’re tearing a literal hole in the Fade, that’s more magick than any one mage can have. I guess there’s no better donor than a Pitch. He hated them, all of the power families, in Ferelden, in Tevinter, even Orlais, and they’re just rich tossers. Glad someone’s putting him in his place.”

“Thank you for telling us so much, but…why do you care?” Shepard asks.

“I’ve been made Tranquil, not stupid. If Ebb says you’re good, then you’re good. Your mother may have taken half my soul, but I have a stake in the world not going to shit,” he says, how he remains so calm throughout it all, Simon doesn’t know. It was like there was a filter on him, but deep down there was still a person there, with feelings, quirks and apparently a temper. Shepard apologises, stressing that he only wanted to check that his claims were honest.

“Do you happen to know why he took to such…extreme measures? As you say, tearing down the Veil isn’t guaranteed to help him achieve his goals. And we know his men have been looking at alternatives,” Penny asks.

“It’s all because of Lucy,” Ebb says from behind Nico, “Oh poor Lucy. She loved him so much, both of them,” And she starts sobbing again

“Salisbury?” Nico asks, and Ebb nods before blowing her nose in a tea towel, “Didn’t they have a kid?”

“Yes. Beautiful baby boy. Last I heard he gave the child away,” Ebb chokes out.

“What’s his name again?”

“Simon Snow Salisbury.”

“Stupid middle name if you ask me,” Nico huffs.

Simon’s blood has gone cold. When he set out for the Wavering Wood, this was not how he expected his day to go. They came looking for answers about the Woods, and perhaps learn more about the Fade, not all of this. The chances of this Lucy being his mother, and the Mage being his father were astronomical, but evidently destiny has a sick sense of humour. He knew his mother died while he was very young, and that his father had left him with the Salisbury’s. (His cousins loved reminding him that they only took him in because Lucy was his grandmother’s favourite). They shipped him for basic training the moment he turned eleven, and that was the last time he was home. For fourteen years he went on, doing as he’s told, and the one time he doesn’t, he reunites with his father and gets a world destroying Mark seared onto his palm.

He couldn't look at Baz, not any of them. His family set everyone in Thedas down a path of doom for no reason other than the unfair hand that life had dealt them. He just stared into his hands, cursing the Mark on his palm.

“It can’t be,” Ebb suddenly says, and she lifts Simon’s face so she can look better at him, “Nico, it’s him. He has the same eyes, her eyes.” She turns his face gently toward Nico, “The same vibrant golden hair.”

Realisation dawns his face, Simon watches the pieces fall into place, “It would seem so,” he says solemnly, “I’m sorry kid. She was lovely, your mother.”

He jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and it was Baz. _How could you still…?_ Instead of looking disgusted, they all looked at him with sympathy, with kindness, and Simon doesn’t understand why.

“I think we’ve heard enough, thank you both very much,” Baz says curtly, and the rest stand quickly to leave. Simon was half way out the door, reeling from everything he’s learnt.

“Simon!” Ebb calls, holding onto his hands, “You’re welcome back, anytime. You’ll be safe here.”

“The Woods are special right?” he manages weakly. Ebb nods, giving him a watery smile, “Why?”

“They shelter those most in need, guiding those who need help. In return, we tend to it, care for it,” she explains. Simon doesn’t quite understand, but Baz was calling for him.

“She loved you Simon, her rosebud boy.”

He stumbles out the house, fighting back the tears. _How can I miss someone I’ve never met?_

* * *

“If he’s been made Tranquil, and he said he only has half a soul, it is possible that those two be part of the Prophecy too.”

“Ebb and Nico?”

“Mirrored existences? They’re literal twins.”

“Who knew even Prophecies could have this many interpretations.”

“I think I’m coming to conclusion that it’s better to not put too much faith in prophecies anymore.”

Penny and Shepard argues out in front, their conversation contrasting sharply with Simon and Baz who have no said a word to each other. _What was there to say?_ In one fell swoop, they’ve learned that the Mage and Davy were the same person, he wanted to tear down the Veil, threatening their world, and he was responsible for Natasha Pitch’s death. His own father killed Baz’s mother. Simon knows his limits, there was no way he could find the words to express how sorry he was for his father’s actions, how he’s never even met the man, and how angry he was that his family was the source of so much pain for Baz, for everyone. So, he stays quiet.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t something he could push aside and not think about. If there was any hope for the Thedas, the Inquisition, for Baz to have an after, he had to confront it head on.

“Snow,” Baz says as the crest over the last legs outside Watford Keep, “Simon. I – ”

“Let’s talk about this later,” he says, he’s not ready for Baz to leave him, he couldn’t make the world stop just so he can keep him by his side for a bit longer.

“As you wish.”

And Simon dashes ahead to the front.

* * *

Meeting in the War Room at this hour was unprecedented, but Simon needed to tell everyone. So there they were, the four of them still grimy from the journey back, Agatha, Dev and Niall in their nightclothes, all worried about what Simon was telling them. And he tells them everything, the Mage, Davy, what he was doing with Natasha Pitch, and why this chaos was driven by his father’s madness. None of them interrupt as he rambles on, his mouth moving faster than his thoughts could.

Simon hated the long silence that followed, but he knew what he said was a lot, more than any of them expected to hear. He slumps into his chair, running his hands through his hair. _What the fuck do I do?_

It was Penny that finally speaks up, “I said a long time ago I didn’t know if I made the right decision, trusting you. I know now, and I wouldn't change a thing about it.”

“He’s not your father, he’s done nothing to deserve you,” Baz says with his arms crossed.

“Exactly. You’re not him Si, you’re a better man than anyone Thedas could’ve hoped for,” Shepard says, flashing him a warm smile.

“Everything you’ve done is to thwart his plans, to make the world a better place.” Penny continues.

“We’ve also received word from our allies and agents,” Niall said, “There’s been movement at the Temple ruins, by the White Chapel.” 

“It’s your call Simon,” Agatha says, “It’s always been your call.”

“Your troops are ready, they, we, will stand with you, Inquisitor,” Dev says.

If he wanted to right the wrongs of his father, put the world back together, he couldn't do it alone. The tears he’s held back since the Wavering Woods fill his eyes, his friends had stuck by him as the Inquisition grew, as the unassailable claims of his divinity, his Golden Destiny, unravelled, but they stood with him. And they still stand with him now.

For his friends, he had to be the Inquisitor, the Herald of Merlin and Morgana one last time.

 _I have to end this_.

“We march on the White Chapel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The final battle this weekend!
> 
> Hold to your butts - things will be happening.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	22. The Eve of After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Simon, you are enough for me."

**SIMON**

“Snow, a word?” Baz grabs his hand and leads him out from the War Room.

It’s been a week since they came back from the Wavering Woods and he’s managed to avoid talking to Baz that entire time. He was needed to organise their assault on the White Chapel. He had asked Agatha to call for their allies in the Coven and Orlais to ready their troops for the march on the White Chapel. Working together with Dev to rally and prepare the Inquisition’s own troops for what may very well be their last fight. Discussing with Penny which approach to the Temple would give them the most tactical advantage, then asking Niall to send their agents ahead to scout the area and keep an eye out on the Mage (he refused to call him Davy. Compartmentalising at its best).

It just so happens that a week preparing for the fight of their lives left him with little time to be with Baz, always returning to his bedchambers far too late in the night, waking up as soon as the sun creeps up on the horizon. It was also a complete coincidence that whenever he was in a room with Baz, there was always someone else there with more pressing issues than them.

He couldn’t ignore the Inquisition. Not when he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Not when everyone chose to believe in him – they needed him to be the answer to the Breach. In reality, he was just a solider on guard duty at the wrong place at the wrong time, or the right place at the right time. Simon didn’t know which was correct, or really which he preferred.

What he did know was that Baz was dragging him towards his bedchambers up in the Tower. Come tomorrow, he may never hold Baz’s hand again, hear his mocking affection, see him smile and shed layers and layers of life-long defences. There was so much he wanted to say, to do, but now their time has run out and Simon couldn’t do anything about it.

**BAZ**

The past week has been difficult for Baz, because while his insides were messed up and a jumble of feelings, he couldn’t pull Simon aside to fix them. Everyone was already pulling at him, taking whatever was left of Simon to help them get through this mess. He couldn’t add to that, so he waits, hopeful. He co-ordinates with Penny and Dev about their route, how to divide up the mages and the soldiers the minimise casualties. He speaks with Niall to pass on some protection spells to better guard the frontline. He stays up for as long as he could every night, hoping Simon would come talk to him. He lingers in meetings to give Simon the opportunity to reach out to him. But he never does.

And now, it was the eve of the battle, and they’ve barely said a word to each other. Baz needed to tell him that he doesn’t care where Simon came from, who he was, or what the Mage did. He needed to tell him that the man he fell in love with wasn’t the Herald, not the Inquisitor, but simply Simon. If there had been no destiny, no Breach, no Mark, Baz would love to have met him on his travels into Ferelden, he’d still fall for him, and their lives would be simple, quiet and clean.

But this was the hand they were dealt, and Baz had no regrets, so long as he tells Simon before tomorrow.

* * *

**SIMON**

It’s been a whole week and he still doesn’t have any idea how to put his feelings into words. He’s been putting it off, and until Baz cornered him and all but dragged him away, he was almost certain they’d never speak about it and head off to the White Chapel.

It’s not that he wanted to leave things up in the air, it’s just that he felt selfish for wanting, _daring_ to hope, that Baz would still want him despite everything. He had told Baz he wanted them to have an after, and Baz agreed. But that was before the pedestal he was put on started cracking, before Baz found out he was nothing more than an accident. All he was doing, really, was cleaning up after the Mage’s mess. Baz couldn’t want an after with someone like him, not when he deserved so much more than what Simon could ever offer.

They stand there in his bedchamber, Simon sitting on the edge of the bed and Baz was just pacing. He was fine before, pushing away Baz, or Baz and him, aside for the Inquisition, he was content to just see Baz there in his bed every night. He didn’t know how much longer he had with him, so he’ll take any moment he could. But now, them not talking and alone, it sends his nerves into overdrive.

“Spit it out Baz,” he says. _Just tell me you’re leaving. No point dragging it out._

Baz’s face turns from incredulity to rage, “You want _me_ to spit it out? When you’ve been ignoring me for a week?”

“I have nothing…no that’s wrong. I _do_ have things to say, I just … I just don’t know _how_ , there’s so much,” Simon says weakly, pushing the curls out of his face.

“Then fucking tell me _everything_ ,” Baz pleads, “Don’t shut me out Simon,” He’s kneeling in front of Simon now, looking up at him.

He caresses Baz’s face, his thumb tracing the flawless skin. _So beautiful._

He shrugs and he can feel Baz flare up.

“Simon, come tomorrow and that’ll be it. Win or lose, we might lose each other. So please, _talk to me_.”

“I can’t be what you need me to be, I’m not the person you all thought I was. All I’m good for is cleaning up some homicidal maniac’s mess,” Simon doesn’t dare look up at Baz, “You deserve someone who won’t remind you of everything you’ve lost.”

**BAZ**

Between the two of them, Baz was always the one to make his opinions known, his voice heard. There was also an old saying in Tevinter, “Whoever says it first, would have lost already.” That had clung to him throught this dance that Simon and he have been doing right from the start – Simon was the one to suggest the truce, he had initiated their first kiss, he was the one to pull Baz back into his arms time and time again.

Simon’s played his cards, and Baz was ready to throw the game, lose himself to Simon. To let Simon’s shades of gold and plain blues consume his mind, his freckled complexion the palette of Baz’s happiest memories.

“I love you Simon.”

“You don’t mean that,” Simon chuckles after a beat, “I’m just the guy with the funny hand.”

“So what?” Baz says staring straight at him, “So what if you’re _not_ the Chosen One, or the Herald or whatever people are going to call you from here on out?

“But the Mage, Davy and your mother? Surely that matters?” Simon reasons.

Baz cups his face, making sure Simon hears every word, “You said you’d help me find my mother’s murderer, and you did. Are we not all setting off tomorrow so that we can end this once and for all?”

“We are.”

“Then that’s enough. Simon, you _are_ enough for me.”

**SIMON**

Simon didn’t know how much he ached those words, to simply be enough as he was. Baz never asked for him to be more than what he was, and to now hear it, his doubts about where they stood start to evaporate. Baz had wondered a long time ago if Simon wanted him after, Simon never thought that he’d be scared of the same thing. _And he does_.

“I love you too.”

He lets Baz pull him in for a kiss, tender ones that quickly become desperate, messy, they hold onto each other as if every kiss would be their last. He breathes in Baz’s scent, a distinct blend of cedar and bergamot, committing the way his lips turn down slightly in the corner, the slight bend in his nose, the fire and life in those mesmerizing grey eyes. These will be the things he will hold onto come tomorrow.

* * *

He looks on in from the balcony, watching Baz’s chest rise and fall, bundled up in more than his fair share of the duvet. Simon didn’t mind, he usually ran hot anyway, something Baz has relied on in lieu of getting more blankets. It was just another one of the quirks that made up the enigma that was Baz Pitch.

Simon turns to look out below, at Watford Keep. With Baz’s words swimming in his mind, that he was singularly enough, he could look out at the dimmed torches, flying banners with a sense of pride. What he had built here with his friends, the life they have carved together in these turbulent times were real. Everything they did was real.

What was also real was that the Mage was his father. The Dread Mage, as Ebb called him, had inflicted the largest wound Thedas has ever seen. He grew up an orphan, and it’s all he’s ever known. Simon did worry that should the time come, that deep-seated desire to have a family, to have someone to be proud of him, guide him, would that stop him from doing the right thing.

_Could I do it?_

Penny is a woman ruled by pragmatism, and even she couldn’t bring herself to let Premal die. Agatha and Niall ran from what they needed to do. Even Dev, who followed his duty through and through, chose to be with Niall in the end, no matter the consequences. They all found a way to live the lives they wanted. Simon knows it’s his decision at the end, he just hopes he can make the right one.

“Come back to bed _amatus_ ,” Baz mumbles, propping himself up in bed, blankets pooling around his waist.

 _I have all of that right here_.

When this all began, Simon was ready to die to save the world, it was the unspoken expectation everyone had, even if no one said it out loud. But now, looking at Baz, tussled hair, his bare chest bathe in the moonlight, Simon wasn’t ready to let him go.

Simon climbs back into bed and pulls Baz into his arms, “I promise you an after. For us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene was actually one of the first ones I had in my head when I was mapping out the story. 
> 
> Obviously, things moved around, but I wanted Simon to know that Baz loved him, without any strings attached.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this one!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated x
> 
> Find me on Tumblr here: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	23. March on the White Chapel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Go on Simon, we’ll hold the line, finish this.”

**AGATHA**

The march towards the White Chapel was an arduous one, the remnants of the Mage’s Men were armed and ready for them, all laying down their lives for their cause. Magick was thick in the air, offensive and defensive spells being sent in all directions. The Inquisition was following Penny’s strategy of pushing ahead with ruthless efficiency, the goal to maintain pressure on the Mage’s Men. Simon and Dev lead the soldiers, moving in to dispatch the Normals who made up the bulk of what’s left of the Mage’s Men.

Simon was radiant, leading the charge, with the sun shining down on him, bringing out the gold in his otherwise bronze curls. He looked every bit the saviour that legend has made him out to be.

Despite their speed, they were suffering casualties as well. The Mage’s Men were fighting with no sense of self-preservation, doing the most to weather down the Inquisition. Trixie and her team of medics were having a hard time keeping up with the wounded being ferried back.

“I’m honestly surprised to see you out here with us,” Niall says as Agatha wards off another squadron with a defensive spell, “Thought you’d be with the medics and handling the messages.”

“If this is the last day of my life, I thought, fuck it, why not. I can’t stand by while all my friends are out here,” Agatha says, ducking as Niall blasts another one of the Mage’s Normal followers.

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse,” he grins.

“Like I said, fuck it,” and she sports a mirroring grin.

**DEV**

Throughout their time together, Dev always knew Simon was a great swordsman, and with many months as the Inquisitor under his belt, he’s only refined his skills. He was no longer that brash fighter that relied on brute strength, there was measured strength now. The Simon beside him now fought like a man who wanted to live, not just survive.

He’ll admit, revisiting the Temple of Sacred Ashes after so long, to finish off what they had started that cold winter day in Mummers, it was poignant. Not only did the Breach start and end with Simon, it all started and will end at the Temple.

Together, fighting side by side, they clear a rough path for their own mages to surge in front and deal devastating spells without fear of hitting one of their own. Baz and Penny look excited (though he’s sure Baz would say it’s entirely academic) as they combine a series of fire and ice spells to create a cacophony of searing heat and blood hardening frost.

“Go on Simon, we’ll hold the line, finish this,” he says, parrying off a blow, urging Simon to run ahead.

“Thanks Dev,” and he runs off, with Baz following closely behind.

**BAZ**

Despite the head start, Baz was faster on his feet, sending bolts of lightning to fry anyone that dared to stand in his way. Simon didn’t have the luxury of range, and so, Baz was the one who breaks into the White Chapel first.

Standing in front of the altar was the man himself, wearing the same hood as in the vision, the one he wore when he took his mother’s life.

“The Dread Mage himself,” Baz sneers readying his staff for the fight.

 _I could spare Simon the pain of patricide if I torch him_.

The Mage doesn’t actually respond, but he immediately sends a beam of energy towards Baz, it has the same unnatural, unfiltered crackling yellow glow that Simon has. Not one to back down, Baz unleashes everything he has in his arsenal all with the single goal of immolating the man in front of him.

“Spare him the pain and die by my hand. Don’t make him bear the cross for your death as well as your mistakes,” Baz barks, launching another blast of fire bolts.

“You have it wrong, boy,” The Mage says, “I thought I was once the greatest threat to the world, I was ready to fight to Chosen One. But now, can’t you see? It’s _him_. He is the threat – I will deliver us from this. And once I do, your precious magick will be for everyone, you Pitches, Salisbury’s, Staintons, Wellbeloves can all rot into obscurity.”

_What?_

“Fuck off Davy,” and Baz launches a fireball at the Mage, setting much of the pulpits on fire, the resulting flame catches on the Mage’s cape and torches the leather braces on his left arm.

**SIMON**

It was exactly the type of thing for Baz to do, running ahead and leaving behind a trail of fire. By the time Simon reaches the White Chapel, the beautiful stained glass windows were lit from the inside, an ever-changing parade of fiery reds and gold.

“Baz!” he shouts as he runs into the White Chapel.

“Snow,” and suddenly something splashes on him and he’s clutching the curve of his neck. Simon watches Baz bite back a cry, “That was cheap you lowlife.” Simon could see the liquid eats into Baz’s leather armour, dripping onto his neck.

He steadies his sword, putting himself between Baz and the Mage. The look of recognition makes him sick to his stomach.

“That was an heirloom,” the Mage says, gesturing at Simon’s sword “it suits you”. 

“Not one for you to give,” Simon growls. He had thought he’d feel more than anger and hatred for this man, but it turns out, years of abandonment and consequential neglect doesn’t foster a warm relationship.

“Indeed. You know, your grandfather pointed that exact same sword at my throat when I arrived with you,” Simon’s grip on the hilt tightens, the last thing he wanted was to be sharing _happy_ family memories with the deranged man, “Told me to get out, saying I killed Lucy. That was until they saw you.”

“Snow,” Baz says carefully, as the others catch up to them in the White Chapel.

“You look just like her, a wild thing that I knew was too good for me,” the Mage said, “Look how far you have come. The most powerful mage the world has ever seen.”

Simon’s heard enough, and runs ahead, he didn’t need this, he didn't need the Mage. He was perfectly content with the family he has now. He could feel Niall and Penny spells starting to take effect, guarding him with as much protective magic as possible, before his sword makes contact onto his staff. He curses when the Mage pushes his sword off, and lunges ahead with a vengeance, narrowly missing the target.

Simon continues slashing away with precision and weight, but the Mage is too fast – too skilled – for any hit to land. Simon dodges a Chilled Touch fist, only to feel a dagger plunge into his side. He’s locked in with the Mage now, leveraging his body weight onto his sword, hoping to snap the staff. He does his best to ignore the sharp pain on his side, and the dagger lodged right under his ribs. _Of course the first time my father embraces me is to stab me._ But he doesn’t yield, clenching on his teeth he leans more, managing to shift the centre of balance onto the Mage.

**SHEPARD**

Whilst Simon takes on the Mage in his stupid get up, the rest of them focus on keeping Simon free from interference. Their troops were doing a good job of keeping the majority of the Mage’s Men at bay, but there were always a few that manage to get through the doors of the White Chapel. However at this point there was no where to retreat to. They can only hope that their lines hold until Simon destroys the Mage.

“We’re trapped in here,’ Shepard says as he kicks a puny mage square in the chest, sending him flying into another group of glass canon mages. “Whatever Simon is doing, he better do it fast,” and another, this time a fist to the nose followed by an uppercut into the jaw. His hands were beginning to ache, he was not built for a battle of attrition.

He’s scanning the fallen soldiers to look for something he can use as a pole, and that’s when he sees Simon and sees the Mage’s hand by Simon’s side, it doesn’t take a genius to see the blood starting to pool under the spot to figure what was happening.

“Penny! Baz! Simon’s been stabbed!”

**PENNY**

It was absolute chaos in here, she’s thankful for the natural bottle neck that formed due the doors of the White Chapel, but she couldn’t leave without leaving this part of the room open for the Mage’s Men to come through. Baz was the closest to Simon out of all of them, and Penny knows the only reason why he’s not moving is because Simon was quite literally hugging the Mage, albeit with a sword in the middle.

She’s also certain he heard Shepard, “Niall, cover me,” she calls and she starts mumbling the beginnings of a healing spell. _I can at least stop the bleeding_. But she never finishes the casting before the magick in the air starts being drained.

 _Not now. Fuck. Not now_.

The familiar screech of the Archdemon rings out and before they knew it, the roof of the White Chapel is blown off, and the Archdemon, in all its blackened scales perches. Sitting on his back is a familiar figure – the sickly, soulless, empty Simon. The magick that was once in the air is completely gone, and the Mage’s Men all run out in fear of the Humdrum, the Archdemon and the Chosen One in one room.

_No one signs up to be collateral damage apparently._

**NIALL**

It was terrifying the first time, but seeing it up close, it’s even worst. Even the Mage looked surprised at the arrival of the Humdrum and his trusty stead. However, the momentary surprise wasn’t enough a distraction for Simon to break the deadlock.

Niall notices that though the Humdrum seemed resolute, he’s not made a move to vaporise any of them yet. This was unlike Adamant, after his dramatic entrance there was a continuous stream of unholy fire, here he looked like he was merely observing.

He sees, Agatha’s knees start to give way, and rushes over to prop her up. He can tell she’s just as exhausted as he is, since she was casting barrier and protection spells for Niall and Penny, who had their own battle mages to take care of.

With all the magick in the air gone, there was nothing anyone could do.

**SIMON**

Without magick, most of his friends were defenceless, and Dev and Shepard couldn’t protect all of them. He knew the Humdrum was trying to get him to go off again, applying pressure on him. He refused to let him succeed.

He glares at the Mage, seeing a sinister grin form on his face as he twists the dagger in his side. He hisses at the pain.

“Help me Simon, give me everything you are, and I will save this world, one that your mother would be happy with. One that she would be proud for you to help build.”

_I promised him an after. For both of us._

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you Father,” he growls.

He reaches for the Mage’s dagger, and grips onto his hand in place, and drops his sword from his other, pulling him into a hug, and reaches out with his Marked Hand. _I just need it to work one more time_.

A Rift tears open behind the two of them, except, it wasn't at an angle that Simon could actually push the Mage through.

His mind goes white, focused solely on carrying the Mage out of here, to stop hurting him and his friends. His thoughts go to the Archdemon, the Humdrum and to carry the Dread Mage to beyond the Veil and into the Fade he loves so dearly. The sensation was very similar to going off, except Simon felt as if he was in control for the first time. He was channelling the Fade beyond his arm, it was coursing through his body, and he wondered if this is what being magickal was like, a constant thrum of untouchable, untraceable energy in his pulse.

Simon focuses his attention on his thoughts and lets the magick in him take over him. It was a calm build up, and he could feel his back growing hot, and it starting to sting. He lets out a feral cry and a familiar golden dome of energy erupts. The resulting blast throws his allies slightly off balance, but he could feel this was different, it wasn’t going off, it was the magick he was born with. Simon stands at the epicentre of his detonation, holding onto Davy tightly, keeping the dagger anchored in him. He could feel a pair of red wings flapping behind him, and a sharpened tail.

“One to end them, and one to save them,” Simon grits out before taking off, holding onto the Mage, and flying directly toward the Rift.

“Simon!” Baz screams after him.

He could hear the Mage panicking under him as they soar through the White Chapel, pawing at him desperately to break his hold. As they approach the Rift, Simon wrenches out the dagger in his side and pushes the Mage off of him sending him tumbling through the eerie gateway. The Mage lands with a thud, and Simon could see through the Rift that when the disorientation cleared, the Mage realised quickly where he was.

“No Simon, my boy, no!” he calls out scrambling to get back out.

“Goodbye, Father,” Simon says before closing the Rift.

He was panting and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. The Dread Mage was gone, the murderer of Natasha Pitch sentenced to a lifetime in the Fade. All those lost souls at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the innocent lives claimed in his name by his Men, avenged.

He looks down from the air, and sees his friends, all shocked by his wings and tail. Simon wasn’t sure how he managed to do it, but as he registers the varied expressions of awe, he is reminded that it wasn’t over yet. There still stood one obstacle before he could seal the Breach, and the final piece happened to look exactly like him.

“It’s your turn now, we’ve played long enough,” Simon turns to the Humdrum, looking at him from above. He swoops down, stumbling on his landing, but standing in front of the Humdrum.

The resemblance was uncanny, it reminded Simon of his childhood, when he had arrived at the Mancunian Camp, how underfed they were despite the training. Until he learned to stand up for himself, he looked sickly, well built but too skinny for his frame.

Simon has one question for the Humdrum, the final piece to complete the puzzle, “Why?”

“I just wanted to be whole, to be like you,” the Humdrum says as he dismounts. His voice was hoarse and uneven, like those stricken with a cough that never goes away. The others start to gather around them, Shepard doing most of the heavy lifting at making sure his friends were still standing. Simon’s grateful that there was at least one other non-magic user who could help him in dealing with a world-ending entity.

Baz hobbles closer to Simon, ignoring Shepard’s call, choosing to lean on his staff for support instead. 

_To claim back what was once theirs._

“Take it, it’s all yours,” Simon says his distorted mirror image, inviting him to take his hand. He feels a damp cold hand grab hold onto his Marked hand, and he lets go, the connection to the Fade, his magic, his life source, he lets it all go to fill up the void that he had left in the Veil.

It feels nice, soothing to let all of it drain away, he could feel the months and months of missions, fighting, politicking seep into his bones. He wants nothing more than to drift off into oblivion. To rest.

**BAZ**

The magick that was flowing out from Simon and the Humdrum was immense, waves and waves of it pulsing through the air, pushing back anything that dared draw near. The stained glass windows shatter from the energy.

Baz stubbornly pushes forward, despite his own sense of self-preservation telling him to stand down. He could hear Penny and Dev call out to him, to stand back, but he doesn’t care. He has to get to Simon.

They could all see the Humdrum slowly fading away, streaks of yellow and green light returning to the sky above them, mending the Breach. The Archdemon slowly disintegrates into dust, no longer needed by the Humdrum to continue his reign of terror. As Baz got closer, he could see the two of them clearer. Just like his mother had, Simon’s hair is slowly turning white, his freckles fading and his body sagging, that beautiful brightness that Simon’s Mark emits turning dimmer and dimmer.

Something was wrong, the Humdrum was only meant to take back what Simon had taken.

 _He’s taking Simon, all of him_.

In a split second decision, Baz musters all the strength and energy he has in him and runs towards them, picking up Simon’s sword on the way. He swipes up, severing Simon’s arm, and with it, the Mark. The remnants of the Humdrum hurtle into the sky, carrying with it all the magick that Simon had. The following boom shakes all of them, but Baz could see the eerie green glow fade from the sky. The Breach was gone.

Baz holds onto Simon as he falls back, silent and unmoving. He cradles his body, caressing Simon’s face, praying to get some response from him. He finally breathes when the colour returns to Simon’s golden hair, the flush return to his tawny skin. He doesn’t let go when the others regain their composure and the magick return to them. Penny and Niall go into overdrive with healing spells, Agatha goes to stop the bleeding from his severed arm, Dev tries to freeze the arm so as to preserve it.

Baz doesn’t hear any of the casting or the shouting from Shepard to get the medics through the battlefield. He just needs something from Simon.

Then he hears Simon grumbling in his arms, and Baz brushes his curls out of his face as he shifts around. Looking up at him was a lopsided grin, half opened eyes, and he loses it. Tears he willed not to fall trickle down his face and he pulls in Simon kissing him like he was air itself.

“I told you there’d be an after”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done. This little passion project of mine. I can't quite believe it's all done now!
> 
> I just wanted to say thank you to everyone that went on this ride with me, and I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. I'm not sure what came over me really when I started this, I also can't believe I saw it through to the end. 
> 
> Stay tuned for the epilogue tomorrow! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated x
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	24. Our After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz plays with the hem of his shirt, “Because no one else calls you Snow.”
> 
> “Well, I like it when you call me Simon,” he pouts. 
> 
> “I know.”

**SIMON**

Once they checked he wasn’t going to drop dead, the Coven set up the Exalted Council, inviting mages, Normals, from Ferelden, Orlais and Tevinter to decide on the Inquisition’s future. Simon was barely off his sick bed but was nonetheless questioned over his intentions for the Inquisition.

The threat was over, the Humdrum dealt with, the Mage gone and the Breach sealed. The Exalted Council was told these were the actions of a crazed man, motivated by grief and rejection. Agatha warned to not sound too sympathetic regarding the Mage (he wasn’t), but Simon did want to let the Exalted Council know that maybe the old way wasn’t the perfect way, and given the Council was rare show of the people of Thedas working together, perhaps they had to think about the future as well.

The representatives from Tevinter pressed them for answers for the Humdrum, attempting to shift some blame for their own starting a blood cult and almost unleashing a malevolent deity upon Thedas. Simon had told them the truth – the Humdrum was a result of the tear in the Veil, alongside the Breach. Regardless of what form it took, the Humdrum was merely the manifestation of the missing parts of the Fade, at least that’s what Baz and Penny surmised.

In the end, Simon voiced his desire to keep the Inquisition for now, until Thedas was safe. There was immediate outcry from several members of the Coven and Tevinter. Surprisingly, the Normals unanimously voted for the Inquisition to stay, arguing that the Inquisiton was the first of political entity to actually admit Normals into its ranks, and is lead by one nonetheless. Simon was surprised himself that they still consider him one of them, despite his wings and tail.

Ultimately, it was a combination of their allies in Orlais, the support drummed by the Houses Pitch, Grimm and O’Beirne in Tevinter, a plea from Lady Ruth Salisbury and a decisive vote from Mitali Bunce, head of the Exalted Council, that enabled the Inquisition to continue. Simon didn’t know if he should feel insulted by one of Mitali’s reasons being that Simon was not a man of politics, just a man who wants to help.

As Agatha once said to him, no matter the means, so long as the goal is achieved, it doesn’t matter. Simon’s not sure he believes in those words wholeheartedly, but for now, his chosen family lives to see another day.

And Baz and him can finally have their after.

* * *

**BAZ**

As the world settled into its new rhythm, the legend of the Inquisitor grew as well. Some say he was Chosen because he was secretly a Dragonborne. Other says it was his reward from Merlin and Morgana for answering his calling and saving Thedas, to be a dragon amongst men. If anyone asked Simon, he’d just shrug.

Now Simon was lying in bed next to him, doing his daily exercises for his reattached arm. Admittedly, Trixie did a fantastic job, but she couldn't make any cosmetic changes, so now the golden veins that only appeared whenever he used the Mark were permanently tattooed onto skin, which Simon considers a small sacrifice. “I still get to hold your hand and play with your hair, so really does it matter?” he had said, Baz just rolled his eyes.

In all honesty Baz didn’t mind, Simon was here with him, enjoying the morning sun atop their Tower, living _their_ after.

_This is a charmed life_.

“Hey Baz, can I ask you a question?”

“Hm?” Baz hums as he throws on a shirt.

“Why don’t you call me Simon?”

“I do, all the time. Just last night I believe – ”

“I mean outside, y’know, in front of other people, in the real world.”

Baz plays with the hem of his shirt, “Because no one else calls you Snow.”

“Well, I like it when you call me Simon,” he pouts.

“I know.”

Giving his hand a good shake, Simon climbs out of bed, hunting for trousers. That was a view that Baz doubted he’ll ever get tired of seeing, “Now that I think about it, you did call me Simon, once, outside.”

“When would that be?” Baz says smirking into mirror, looking at Simon’s reflection.

“At the White Chapel.”

“You sure about that? Things were pretty hectic.” Simon doesn't respond, having finally found his trousers thrown half way across the room. _They were in the way, and a hassle to take off._

“I can’t wait for the goodwill tour Agatha set up – imagine the food they’d serve to the Great Inquisitor!” he says, lacing up his trousers. Baz detested the idea and was ready to spell Shepard silent when he jumped at the opportunity, eager to starting traveling again. He didn’t even have Dev and Niall to count for the veto because those two had left for Tevinter, to formally introduce each other to their families. _Traitors_. Baz made sure to send gifts ahead to the families, blessings from the Inquisition.

“You sure you don’t want to just run away to one of my holiday homes for a couple of weeks?” Baz wasn’t quite ready to return Simon to the world yet, so he’s plotting for an extended retreat behind Agatha’s back. Surprisingly Penny was more than supportive and happy to arrange a distraction. He suspects it’s because she’d rather Shepard stay put as well.

“We have forever for that – and I really need to know if there is a flavour of scone out there better than sour cherry,” Simon says as he makes his way to the balcony.

“You are terribly dull Simon Snow,” Baz says as he gets up to follow Simon, the rays from the morning sun shining around him.

“Anything else?” he laughs.

Baz wraps his arms around Simon’s waist, planting a kiss on the crown of curls, “And I hope this ends soon.”

And so they look on to the dawn of a new age, the Age of Dragons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're officially done! 
> 
> This has been such a joy to write, and a wonderful little project for lockdown. No expenses, just how many words I can get out. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading it, I hope this short chapter serves as a good send off to our heroes and what is my first proper fic in well over a decade. 
> 
> And for the last time - I hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated x
> 
> Feel free to hit me up on Tumblr: https://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


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